


The Dreamwalker's Man

by lindenmae



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenmae/pseuds/lindenmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has always been tempted by the woods, but he has never succumb. Not until a mysterious witch threatens the only family he's ever known.  Not until a blue-eyed wolf begins stalking his waking hours while a blue-eyed man haunts his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreamwalker's Man

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/18462.html?thread=41504542) prompt for werewolf!Eames and redridinghood!Arthur. Knotting, size kink, slight dubcon, possessive!Eames, injured!Arthur, borderline bestiality- sexual attraction to a wolf, sex with a wolfman

“Arthur, Arthur! I’ve seen the witch, and she’s beautiful.” Dom awoke from his trance slowly, a soft smile playing about his mouth as he spoke. Yusuf’s hands flitted about, checking Dom’s vitals. He peered into Dom’s eyes once they opened, but they were clear as if it had been natural sleep.

“The witch?” Arthur tried to keep his voice steady but a faint tremor of irritation could be caught in it. Yusuf glanced up and caught his eye.

“Arthur, she’s beautiful,” Dom whispered reverently. “I’ve never seen anyone so lovely.”

“Damnit, Dom! She’s dangerous!”

“But I saw us, Arthur. I saw myself with her. We were married and happy and we had children- a little boy and girl. It was amazing. It felt so real. I think I’ve seen the future, Arthur.”

Arthur looked sharply at Yusuf who shook his head in confusion. All of Dom’s vitals were regular and despite his ravings, he had his faculties about him. This was no different than any trance he’d ever gone into except that he’d somehow seen the witch when no one else knew what she looked like.

“What did you give him, Yusuf?” Arthur tried his best to ignore Dom’s odd behavior as he rounded on their chemist, convinced there must have been some experimentation that he hadn’t been made aware of. “No one has ever seen the witch. Dom’s never come out of a trance in this state before. What did you do?”

“Nothing, Arthur, I swear. Every ingredient in the potion he took is the same as it always is. I don’t understand this development, myself… unless he’s really seen her. They say she does her work in dreams you know. It wouldn’t be too surprising for her to feel connected to a dreamwalker.”

Arthur very nearly growled at that, irrational anger forming a burning core in his chest. He was frustrated and he was tired. The witch’s coming had disrupted his life and he was beginning to feel it was beyond repair. He knew nothing about her and no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing out. No one had ever heard of her and there were no stories from outlying lands about a woman with the power to predict love. As soon as she had arrived, the people of the village began to report strange dreams that were unnaturally clear, that showed them the faces of their future lovers. Arthur would have put it aside as a hoax, were it not for those very dreams coming true.

At first people had been frightened, for the witch stayed in the thick forest that surrounded the village and no one had ever seen her clearly. Hunters claimed to have seen an apparition of a beautiful woman in the woods, gone before they could believe their eyes enough to remember her features. But they knew she existed because many had seen her dog patrolling the village’s borders, where civilization abruptly stopped and Mother Nature’s wild reign resumed. The witch’s dog was a fearsome thing, the size of a wolf but thicker around the limbs, its snow-white fur stained with whorls of ink that curled around its muscles like tattoos on a man. Anyone who’d seen it claimed that the eyes were its most fearsome attribute - blue like the sky, deep like the lake, and eerily human. Because man will go mad when they cannot understand, the villagers had decided the dog was a human cursed by the witch, a lover who had scorned her and was now destined to spend eternity by her side whilst she gave love to the rest of the world. The villagers could only guess as to what the dog wanted so badly inside of the village, for it never set foot over the invisible line that marked the village boundary, just waited patiently for something or someone to come to it.  
But these were stories without basis and Arthur dealt in facts. That is why it haunted Arthur so to sleep at night, because his own mind had betrayed him. For every night when Arthur slept, he dreamt of a man standing naked in the moonlight, watching him with eyes as blue as the sky while his muscles rippled beneath swirls of black ink. For someone who dealt daily with other people’s dreams, the invasion of his own drove him to lay awake at night, angry and afraid.

For Arthur, dreaming had lost its luster at a very young age, when he and Dom began to infiltrate the dreams of others to heal their minds and sometimes, to steal their secrets. Though Arthur rarely entered the trances necessary to enter dreams, instead staying above to guard Dom’s body, he had before and had lost his ability to dream naturally as a side effect of Yusuf’s potions. It did not pain him though, leaving him feeling better when he awoke for not having to face a barrage of subconscious imagery while he slept. He believed in Dom’s abilities, magical as they were, because he had been down with Dom, taken into worlds where nothing was real and anything was possible. He’d seen inside the minds of others, seen their secrets. It was all the better that he had more guard up around his own.

Arthur’s life had been satisfactory before the witch had come and cast her spell over the land. He would have believed her another dreamwalker, but no one had the power to see the future, to see connections that had not yet been forged. And no one had ever before been able to come between him and Dom. If this woman could see the future, if she could show it to Dom, then why hadn’t Dom said anything about him? Why hadn’t Arthur been a part of it?

…

Days passed with Dom sinking into trances that lasted for hours and served no purpose, because the witch was always there. Dom couldn’t work without the witch invading his dreams, couldn’t enter into others’ because he was constantly blinded by his own. It all came to a head when he saw his non-existent children in the butcher’s mind and was left completely distracted and unable to give the butcher any answers. The threat of a machete to his skull finally sapped the last of Arthur’s patience. It was Yusuf’s idea to send Dom down with no connections to anyone else, to see if he could give any details that would tell them where the witch was, but Dom didn’t go unwillingly and it became harder and harder to wake him from his trances peacefully.

After days of trances, Dom had yet to give up any information about the witch but his increasing ardor for her. Arthur believed it to be a trick, a ploy to twist her only real foe around and leave him too weak and confused to fight her. Arthur didn’t know what the witch’s endgame was and it left him feeling impotent.

Angry and at a loss, Arthur walked outside the village, to the edge of the forest to see the dog for himself. There were too many eyewitness accounts for Arthur to pretend it wasn’t real, but he’d always needed to see things firsthand before he would accept anything as fact, and as Dom became more and more withdrawn into his own mind, Arthur was running out of options. There was no use anywhere for a corrupted dreamwalker and no use for Arthur without Dom.

At first he saw nothing and berated himself for listening to the tales of old men, but before he could turn back the way he came, a flash of white caught his eye. Not fifty paces away sat the animal, watching him quietly. The dog had not yet attacked anyone, though its sheer size would allow it to take down a full grown man, and for reasons unknown Arthur was not worried for his person as he stared the dog down. It was beautiful and seemed calm, as if it was waiting for Arthur to make the first move.

Arthur felt irrationally compelled to be close to it, an urgent need within him the likes of which he had never felt before. He was a practical man and the sudden swirl of emotions engulfing him alarmed him but not enough to make him turn away. He took a step closer, holding out his hand as if to indicate to the beast that he meant no harm. As he moved, the dog smiled and its unsettling eyes seemed to suddenly sparkle with mirth. The dog cocked its head, allowing its tongue to loll out of its mouth in its apparent happiness, as any domesticated canine would do. Arthur felt completely at ease except for the aching need growing inside of him to be closer to the animal, to feel its fur beneath his palm, the steady thump of its heartbeat against his own chest.

“Arthur.”  
Arthur was shocked out of his trance by the sound of his name. His sudden awareness of his surroundings felt like being dunked in ice water, and he had to fight to catch his breath even though he’d barely been moving. The dog snapped its maw shut, turning a distasteful eye on the newcomer before growling slightly and trotting off into the tree line.

“Arthur, may I inquire as to what you were doing just now?”

Arthur turned and clasped his hands in front of himself, trying to hide the slight shaking in his limbs without much luck. “Lord Saito. I thought, perhaps, the dog could lead me to the witch.”

Saito smirked, and Arthur felt his impatience return. Saito was physically larger and politically more powerful than he could ever hope to be, but Arthur didn’t like to be reminded of it.

“I am glad to hear that someone is actually interested in her whereabouts. Though you would have to be, yes? If the rumors are to be believed, your Master Cobb has fallen under her spell.”

Arthur bristled but nodded. It wouldn’t save him anything to lie to Saito. “She’s dangerous. It would be in the best interest of the entire kingdom to be rid of her.”

“I see. I believe we can be of use to each other then. With Cobb out of commission, I am sure your pockets are not as full as they once were. I will pay you handsomely to find the witch and bring her back to me… alive.”

…

“Dom, did you see anything? Do you know where she is?”

Dom shook his head, like his ears were stopped with water, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t incoherent. He responded to any inquiries about anything else, but questions asked about the witch were ignored or answered with more descriptions of her beauty and the life Dom had seen with her.

“Lord Saito is expecting us to bring her in. He’ll have our heads if we fail. You can’t let her twist your thoughts this way.” Arthur felt himself above pleading for the man’s attentions, but he found himself doing it anyway, all other avenues exhausted. Dom was deliberately sabotaging the job he had been hired to do and Arthur was not inclined to die for Dom’s delusions.

“She is only making you believe that you are in love, Dom! She’s planted the idea of it in your head, but it isn’t real. You’ve got to see that.”

”It is real, Arthur. I don’t know why you won’t believe me. I won’t let you bring her to Saito. I won’t let you hurt her.”

“Goddamnit, Dom!” Arthur kicked over a chair in the small room to vent his frustration, sending it clattering across the dirt floor and into the opposite wall.

“Arthur,” Yusuf called to him softly, not interested in suffering the same fate as the chair. “He is too far gone. He’s not going to give you anything. Perhaps if we sent Ariadne down with him?”

“No. I don’t want to get her involved in this.”

“I’m not sure that we have a choice, Arthur.” Yusuf bravely laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “She’s his apprentice. There is no better time to prepare her for the worst than when it is actually happening.”

Arthur glanced at where Dom was gazing dreamily out of the window, his fists clenched tightly and resting on his thighs.

“There’s no other way?”

“I am afraid not.”

Ariadne was young, but she was smart and Arthur did not doubt her abilities. But things had taken a disastrous turn when Saito had become involved and Arthur knew that were Dom in his right mind, he would be furious with them allowing Ariadne to come to harm. Dom wasn’t right though; he was spending more and more of the day in his trances. It would be simple to allow Ariadne to slip into his dreams and take note of the smaller details that Dom was ignoring.

“What does Saito want, Arthur?” She stood at his elbow, her voice wavering as they both watched Dom sleep.

“The impossible,” he whispered, thinking of blue eyes and snow white fur.  
Ariadne looked at him, wide-eyed and earnest, and he had to give her more. He couldn’t send her down into Dom’s mind -what was left of it- without telling her why. He wouldn’t do anything without all of the facts and he couldn’t expect that of someone else. Saito’s interest was only added pressure on an already weak foundation. He had to stop the witch to save Dom, but he had to find the witch to save everyone. He refused to dwell on thoughts of the dog or the man he wouldn’t allow himself to dream of.

“Lord Saito agrees,” he paused, searching his mind for simplest phrasing. “Saito seems to believe, like I do, that the witch is dangerous. He bid me find her and bring her to him.”

“Arthur-“

“That isn’t all. He agrees that the witch can plant ideas in people’s minds, that she’s infected the minds of all the people who believe they’ve fallen in love. He wants her brought to him so that she might infect the mind of Lord Fischer, the way she’s done to Dom.”

Ariadne gasped, a faint inhale, barely audible even in the small room.

“But what does Saito want with Fischer? It can’t just be about land or crops can it?”

Arthur sighed and nodded. “Perhaps he thinks it will be neater this way. No bloodshed or political battles. He wants the witch to show Fischer his face, make Fischer believe he’s in love, possibly so that when his father dies and he gets his inheritance, he'll give it to Saito.”

Ariadne grasped his hand, her palm cool and dry against his clammy one despite what she was about to face. “Do you truly believe that’s all it is? Do you think Saito would go to such trouble just for financial gain?”

“I don’t know, Ariadne. I don’t know anything anymore, nothing but what I must do, to save Dom, at least.”

…

Arthur held her hand tight in his as Ariadne sipped Yusuf’s potions and quickly fell into a trance of her own. They’d laid her down next to Dom, who hadn’t been awake for more than a few hours in the last day. Arthur watched them both intently until a shout from outside the door caught his attention. With one last reluctant look towards the slumbering pair, Arthur strode quickly to the door, throwing it open wide. There were several men gathered together in front of the closest building, pointing and whispering, but it wasn’t the group that had Arthur’s heart pounding against his ribcage. They were staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the creature settled on his haunches not ten paces from where Arthur stood, panting in the afternoon warmth – the dog, inside of the village boundaries.

The dog seemed to smile again when it caught sight of Arthur and its tail began to wag, brushing dirt and straw from side to side with its fur. It seemed genuinely happy to see him, as if his exit from the small house was what the dog had been waiting for. Arthur didn’t know how long the animal had been sitting there before it had been noticed or if it had just arrived, but it seemed to know that what it wanted had been on the other side of this door. Arthur’s heart stuttered and his breath caught in his throat. He at once felt exhausted and exhilarated, the pull to go to the dog just as strong as it had been before, perhaps stronger.

When he took the first step out of the door, the dog seemed to nod at him, muzzle dipping in muted encouragement. Arthur wanted to sink his fingers into the dog’s nape, wrap his arms around its sleek body, bury his face in the wiry fur and sleep like he hadn't done in days. He couldn’t remember wanting anything more.

“Arthur! Arthur!”

Yusuf’s cries pulled him back to himself, to awareness. Impatience sparked in the dog’s eyes and Arthur couldn’t bring himself to turn back to the house until Ariadne’s sobs joined Yusuf’s shouts. He flung himself back into the room in time to see Ariadne sitting up and clutching at her stomach, her hands curled into claws, and her face streaked with tears. She threw herself from the bed and stumbled into Yusuf’s arms, where she curled up and attempted to bury her face in his shoulder. She seemed desperate to put as much distance between herself and Dom as the small room would allow.

“Ariadne! What happened? What did you see?” Arthur fell to his knees beside the girl, but she began shaking her head violently back and forth.

“The witch, Arthur.” Her words were muffled by Yusuf’s tunic. “She attacked me.”

“What?”

Ariadne calmed enough to turn her head and meet Arthur’s eyes directly.

“I was following him and I saw everything, all of the things he said she’s shown him, but she saw me, and. She saw me and she attacked me, and her eyes were so cold. She said I didn’t know what it was to be a lover… that I could never understand what they have.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold and his hands shook as he brought them up to Ariadne’s shoulders. Ariadne bit her lip and tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her shudders.

“She wants Dom, Arthur, and I don’t think she’s going to stop until she has him.”

…

But Arthur had known that, in some perverse way, the witch wanted Dom. He just hadn’t known how desperately or for what purposes. Ariadne’s words weren’t a shocking revelation, but her voice, the fear in it- the foreboding- that was. Arthur was left feeling more determined than ever to rid their lives of this parasite. He fervently hoped that when Saito was done with her, he’d dispose of her. Arthur didn’t care how.

He couldn’t get the image of Ariadne’s trembling form out of his mind and it spurred him to work quickly, preparing to go after the witch on his own. Ariadne begged to come with him, afraid for him, but Arthur dismissed her. He’d put her in enough danger by exposing her to the witch in Dom’s dream, he wouldn’t leave her out as bait in reality. No, he would set out alone, his anger made him bold. Ariadne sketched out a crude map for him of the details she could recall from the dream. There was a trail through the woods, that he already knew, but it was dangerous to traverse it, especially alone. The woods were thick and dark and many a soul who had ventured into them had not returned. The lines on Ariadne’s map twisted like a labyrinth at the center of which sat the witch’s encampment. Ariadne was certain of herself, though her voice shook when she spoke, and Arthur believed her.

The night before Arthur embarked on his mission, he finally slept, exhausted from too many nights spent awake and his own emotions. He slipped away dreading the blue-eyed man, knowing he would be there when unconsciousness came. And he was.

Arthur opened his eyes and found himself standing at the outskirts of the village, at the start of the path that would take him deep into the woods, to the witch. Fifty feet in front of him, blocking his way, stood the man, moonlight illuminating the whorls of ink decorating his naked skin. He smiled at Arthur and suddenly Arthur was striding forward, having made no conscious decision to do so. But then there was only open space before him and sudden warmth at his back and he wanted so badly to melt into it. The pull was so strong.

“You mustn’t be afraid to dream, darling.”

Warm puffs of breath against his neck, lips moving against his skin, thick-fingered hands on his hips, pulling him into the warmth, the man had never spoken to him before and Arthur found himself growing hard at just the timbre of the man’s voice. And then it was gone. His back felt chilled, like he’d fallen into a snow drift. The man was back in front of him, blocking his way and beckoning him forward and Arthur wanted to go, so very badly he wanted to go.

He awoke sweat-drenched and achingly hard, alone in his bed. Sitting up, he tried to ignore his pulsing erection, to will it away, until he glanced out the window. The moon was bright that night and it cast a silver arc over the ground outside of Arthur’s room. In it, sat the dog patiently watching Arthur’s window, eyes half-lidded and mouth closed, and the beast too, was erect, it’s brilliant red cock jutting forth from its fur sheath and pointing up to the stars.

Arthur took himself in hand without thinking, his flesh warm and throbbing beneath his fingers. He gasped with the first tug, the pull of dry skin giving it just enough burn to make it sharp. He lifted himself so that he was visible through the window, visible to the dog, and he threw his head back and moaned as he swiped his thumb over the slit, spreading pre-come over the head. With his other hand, he reached down to cup his balls, rolling them in his palm as he pulled on his cock, harder and faster until he could feel the swell of his impending release in his gut. And all the while, he kept his gaze locked with the dog’s, until his orgasm ripped through him, coating his hand with his seed, and wrenched from his throat a shuddering cry, and the dog threw back its own head and howled.

…

Arthur was ready to depart the very second that the sun rose over the far away mountains. His night encounter had left him feeling antsy and uncomfortable, his logical mind at war with what his body clearly wanted. It was hours after he had collapsed back into his bed, shaky and wet with his own filth, before he allowed himself to peek back through the window. By then the dog was gone, but Arthur could still feel its eyes on him, watching him, wanting him.

He wished he'd never had the idea to investigate the dog's connection to the witch. He wished he'd let hearsay be hearsay and ignored it the way he did everything else that he couldn't prove. But wishing for a way to change the past was futile and Arthur didn't deal in things he couldn't do. Whatever connection existed between himself and the animal was strong enough to bring the dog inside the village boundaries, repeatedly now, and it was only a matter of time before the villagers grew out of their curiosity with it and became suspicious and, inevitably, violent.

Arthur didn't allow himself to think about why the thought of anything happening to the beast drove an icy knife into his heart.

…

He was packed and off, Ariadne's map tucked into his bag, hidden away from prying eyes, as soon as the land began to glow gold with the end of the sunrise, his feet taking him faithfully toward the trail's beginning at the edge of the wood. He was not expecting the old man waiting for him, but he was not surprised to see him either.

"Master Miles," he greeted, nodding his head in deference to the aged dreamwalker.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Arthur." Miles's voice was filled with caution and doubt, and even though Arthur didn't have a fully functional plan, he bristled at Miles's unspoken implications.

"I'm doing what I have to, for Dom."

"Ah, for Dom, of course. You have always been a good friend to him, Arthur, but there are lines, lines which you are about to cross. Is putting yourself in danger for his sake really in anyone's best interest?"

Arthur stared into watery blue eyes the shame shade as Dom's and felt, all at once, compelled to back down and to rise up and fight.

"I don't know what else to do. Dom barely wakes anymore, and when he does he speaks of nothing but the witch. If that is not enough for you to believe that I must act, then you should understand that Saito has taken an interest in her as well, and to save my own hide I must bring her back. There are not many options left open for me."

Miles nodded reluctantly and reached out a hand to wrap around Arthur's elbow. His face was earnest but there was a sadness in his eyes that spoke of a lack of hope that Arthur would succeed.

"Be careful, Arthur. Dom was my apprentice and I love him like a son, but I fear he may be lost. Do not rush into a fool's errand with nothing but your emotions to support you."

"I don't have a choice, Miles. There is more at stake here than Dom, or Saito, or even myself. I can't let this madness continue. The entire village will be lost if the witch isn't stopped."

The sadness in Miles's eyes deepened, but he dropped his hand and stepped out of Arthur's way.

"Be careful, Arthur," he repeated. "Dreams are dangerous things. Do not get lost in yours."

But Arthur was already moving, leaving the old dreamwalker behind and focusing on the path ahead. He pushed Miles's foreboding words out of his mind even as they caused a shiver of unease to crawl across his skin. He gritted his teeth and convinced himself it was the encroaching dark of the wood, and not Miles, and not the disappearance of the dog.

…

He walked for half the day before he took a rest, settling against the thick trunk of one of the many trees and digging into his pack for an apple. The feeling of unease hadn't left him; had, in fact, grown stronger with every step he'd taken, bringing him closer to the heart of the forest. He kept his eyes open for predators, his bow and dagger both in easy reach of his dominant hand, but there was nothing but the usual activity of the forest. None of the rustling leaves or unexpected sounds produced anything of any danger to him. He told himself that he wasn't disappointed that the dog had not yet reappeared, was not worried for it. Logically he should have been relieved. It bothered him immensely that he wasn't.

By mid-afternoon the shade of the wood had turned oppressive, the thick overhanging tree branches turning the day into night. Arthur had to use too much of his focus to stay on the trail and his attention to his periphery suffered for it. He was caught off-guard by the sound of snapping branches off to his side and it took him too long to draw his dagger. Had he been attacked, he would have been good as dead, but there was no time to berate himself. The sounds grew louder, closer, baffling. Arthur couldn't help but wonder what kind of predator would be so careless as to announce its presence so obviously to its prey.

Arthur waited, weapon at the ready, for whatever beast this was to appear, cold sweat trickling down his spine. But Arthur was not used to the tricks of the forest, the way the sound of one cricket could come at a person from all sides. He faced the direction he thought the noises were coming from, but he realized he'd been wrong the second he felt the weight of something far bigger than himself bear down on his shoulders and the heat of wet breath on his neck.

…

 

Arthur tried to twist away as he was brought down, but his assailant’s weight was too much and he was only able to get one shoulder beneath him. He hit the ground hard, all of his weight and his attacker’s weight forcing his arm into the dirt with enough force to knock the breath from him. He felt a jarring pain as his arm was pulled from the socket, the resounding pop of bones separating even louder in his ear than the angry growls above him. Arthur tried to ignore the pain, tried to focus on moving his uninjured arm, his dominant arm. He swung his arm up and over, his knife still clutched tight in his fingers and desperately hoped to make contact. He felt the knifepoint catch on something soft and dig in, heard the sickening squelch of the blade being pulled from flesh and the pressure against him was lessened for an instant. Arthur tried to roll again, but again, he wasn’t given time. He had only a moment to finally take in the sight of the black bear bearing down on him, saliva dripping from its open mouth as it roared above him and brought its massive paw down to claw him open.

He instinctively closed his eyes against the attack and tried to bring his arms up to shield his vulnerable belly, but his left arm lay uselessly at his side and he felt the sharp burn of five pointed claws tearing his flesh all too soon. He screamed from behind gritted teeth as the pain tore through him and he missed the sound of another animal growling fiercely until the bear roared again and the weight of it was torn from above him. Arthur immediately dropped his knife and clutched his good arm to his chest, as if it would stop the burn of where his skin had been ripped. He curled in upon himself and moaned even as he forced his eyes open, forced himself to take stock of his surroundings through the red haze of pain clouding his vision. He maneuvered himself into a kneeling position by sheer will alone and glanced furtively along the trail until he saw the bear wrestling furiously with a smaller but angrier mass of bristling white fur, black markings bleeding into the black fur of the bear until Arthur couldn’t tell where the wolf ended and the bear began.

Arthur could only watch in horror as the animals fought. The bear was bigger, stronger, but the wolf was more agile and it seemed, from the flashes of red that Arthur caught, that there was more blood around the wolf’s muzzle than anywhere else on its body. Arthur’s heart beat painfully hard against his ribcage, each pulse bringing more blood to the open wounds outside of it. He gasped for breath against the pain and tried desperately to keep his eyes open. He knew that he needed to get away, get somewhere safe, but the thought of leaving, of being anywhere but at the edge of the battle, felt like it would result in immediate death. He couldn’t care for himself in this condition and he couldn’t bear to leave the dog behind. Because it was his dog fighting for its life after saving Arthur’s.

The world began to grow fuzzy around the edges of Arthur’s vision. He fought it, but everything on the outside of what he was focusing on grew dark until all he could see were the blurring shapes of the animals fighting in front of him. Arthur knew he had injured the bear, if only slightly, but he didn’t know if the bear had injured the dog or if the dog had been injured before. He knew next to nothing and he felt futile, injured and unhelpful. In a fit of desperation he pulled his good arm away from the ragged tears in his chest and grabbed in the direction of where he believed his knife had fallen. When he felt his fingertips brush the worn leather grip, he forced them to close around it and pick the weapon up. Bracing himself against the pain and forcing himself to focus, he brought the knife up above his head and prayed as he let it fly. If he hit the dog… if he hit the dog he felt he’d surely die along with it.

…

 

The knife sailed true, despite Arthur’s weakening state, and imbedded itself in the thick hide beneath the bear’s shoulder. It wasn’t a kill shot by any means, but to the already injured bear it was sufficient to give the wolf enough of an upper hand to bring it down. Snarling, the dog sunk its teeth into the bear’s neck and pulled away, blood dripping from its muzzle. The bear surged up one last time, but only to amble off into the forest, Arthur’s knife still imbedded in its back, drops of blood leaving a trail behind it. Arthur gasped with relief and clutched his arm back to his chest, curling in on himself in the dirt as the dog guardedly waited for the bear to move out of the range of his scent. When it had, the dog turned its attention to Arthur, who was finally thinking it might be okay to give in to the comforting promise of unconsciousness.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he felt the dog’s wet nose pressing insistently against his cheek and then his uninjured shoulder, urging him up. Arthur tried to bat the dog’s head away, but was rewarded for his efforts only with the butt of it pressing hard, over and over, against his body until he gave in and the followed the animal’s gestures into a standing position. He was hunched over, his body screaming in agony, but he stayed standing, his eyes on the dog, who then grabbed the cloth of his pack in its teeth and pressed its muscled shoulder supportively against Arthur’s hip. It looked up at Arthur, blue eyes intense and soulful, muzzle still stained red, then looked into the bushes and began to march forward, away from the trail. When Arthur hesitated to follow, the dog circled him and pushed against his back until he stumbled forward, barely able to catch himself from falling.

He followed the dog until he felt that he could not take another step, the burn in his chest too great, the ache in his shoulder too much, until thankfully the animal stopped at the opening of what might have been a small cave. Arthur didn’t know, didn’t care, his mind too full of the screaming need to lie down and sleep, sleep, sleep. The cave was dark but dry and Arthur curled up on the floor after crawling through the opening, all thoughts forgotten but the blinding pain of his wounds. He went limply like a rag doll when the dog nudged him onto his back and took the edges of his ripped tunic in its teeth and tore it open, the action jarring his wounded shoulder until he cried out. It echoed off the stone walls, repeating his agony back to him. The last thing he felt before he slipped away from the pain was the warm wet of the dog’s tongue, lapping the blood from his chest, soothing the burn of his wounds.

…

 

“I need you to sit up, love.”

Arthur felt a rough hand slip beneath his uninjured shoulder, a warm, solid arm wrapped around his waist, careful of his left side. The voice in his ear was not much more than a jumble of soothing murmurs, his head was swimming, the pain in his shoulder still so bad his stomach began to roil.

“It’ll just be a moment, dearest, and then the pain will be better. You know that, so work with me, yeah?”

Arthur tried to speak, but he could not be sure that opening his mouth would not result in him expelling his stomach contents. He struggled into a sitting position, back braced against the chest belonging to the mystery voice. But he knew who the voice belonged to, the way the breath was warm against his ear, the way the vowels rolled. The blue-eyed man was there with him and therefore he was dreaming. It was shattering, the realization that when he awoke he’d still be lying on his back on a cold stone floor with a dislocated shoulder and wounds festering on his chest. But even in a dream, Arthur hurt.

The cave smelled faintly medicinal, like the inside of Yusuf’s workshop, and his chest tingled rather than burned where the bear had mauled him. He realized that his chest felt tight, compressed, that his tattered tunic was wrapped around his body as a makeshift bandage, holding a poultice of some sort tight against his wounds. Pity that it would all be gone when he woke up, he’d hate to have survived the attack only to die of the ensuing infection.

“S’worthless,” he managed to slur, allowing his head to loll back against the blue-eyed man’s shoulder.

“Why is that?” The man’s words were soft, soothing, Arthur wished he’d never stop speaking.

“S’not real.” Arthur was finally sitting up as best as he could, though it made him dizzy and nauseous. The man sighed behind him and ran his fingertips over Arthur’s useless shoulder. He shivered and groaned when it sent a sickening pulse of pain through his body. He knew what was coming, knew how much it would hurt.

“Doesn’t it feel real?”

Arthur groaned again in response. Pain was all in the mind, he knew that, but it would be wonderful to make it stop for even as long as the dream lasted.

“Come on, dearest. It will only be an instant and then it will be better.” The blue-eyed man’s hand gripped his bicep lightly, so close to his shoulder. Only a moment of excruciating pain and then it would be over. Arthur’s stomach roiled again and he gasped against the sudden influx of saliva in his mouth.

“Do it.” Please he did not say. He felt a roll of what was left of his tunic being nudged against his mouth and he dutifully took it between his teeth and bit down as he felt the blue-eyed man’s palm gliding smoothly up his arm to grip just below his deltoid. Arthur screamed, only just preemptively, as the blue-eyed man’s grip turned hard and he wrenched Arthur’s arm back into place.

“Oh Hell,” he moaned as the blue-eyed man fashioned a pathetic sling out of the last of Arthur’s tunic. The pain had subsided tremendously just having his shoulder fitted back together, but it still ached and were it real, his arm would still be out of commission for days.

“There you are, darling. Lay back down now, that’s it.” Arthur felt the man move away from him even as his eyelids began to feel heavy again, forcing him to fight to keep them open. But he wanted to, for every night that Arthur had beaten off sleep to keep images of the blue-eyed man away, he wanted desperately to see him now. He’d convinced himself of a fever dream and he was terrified it might be his last.

“Please,” Arthur whispered, grasping for the man’s thick arm, to pull the man into his line of sight. “Please.”  
The blue-eyed man moved over him, hovering just above where Arthur lay. His features were blurry but visible and it was only then that Arthur realized that there was light. “Is it day?”

“It is, you were asleep for bare minutes, but that is firelight. This wood is dark, this cave darker. I needed something to work by and to keep you warm.”

“Oh,” Arthur sighed, reaching up with his uninjured arm to trace his fingertips over the blue-eyed man’s face, lingering over his fat lips.

Despite the way his body still ached, Arthur felt himself begin to respond to the way the man’s body bracketed him, caging him in. His vision blurred as he ran his hand over the bulging muscles of the man’s arms, marveling at their size.

“I wish you were real.”

“Do you now, darling? And if I was?” The man spread his legs, pressing a heavy erection into Arthur’s hip without placing any unnecessary pressure anywhere else.

“No. S’a dream.” A thought occurred to Arthur and he turned his head frantically to the side, wincing when the movement jarred his shoulder. The man cooed at him and forced him to turn his head back. “S'not real, because, where is my dog?”

The man quirked an eyebrow and Arthur blinked and struggled to open his eyes again, but not before he’d seen the glint of amusement in the man’s blue eyes.

“Shh,” the man soothed him, pulling away from Arthur’s body. “Go to sleep, darling. Your dog will be here when you awaken.”

Arthur tried to protest, tried to pull the man back, pull him into a kiss, but his limbs were too heavy and the man was already gone.

…

 

Arthur’s entire body ached when he next awoke, his mind clear and aware of every sore muscle and the sharp burn in his chest, but it was only as he dragged himself back to consciousness that he realized his head was pillowed comfortably on his pack and that something warm and soft had been draped over him like a blanket. His shoulders were bare, his tunic gone he realized as he shifted, his skin meeting cool air. Arthur struggled up, the makeshift blanket pooling in his lap. His heart began to hammer as he quietly took stock of his situation. There was a fire still burning behind him, casting flickering light over his body. Arthur knew he had not lit the fire, had not been capable in his state, and he had not wrapped the ragged pieces of his tunic around his chest the way they were now, had not made the poultice packed against his wounds beneath the pieces. His dream came rushing back to him, pushing all other thoughts aside. There was no doubt that someone else had been there with him, but Arthur did not believe that it could possibly have been the blue eyed man, because the blue eyed man did not exist.

Arthur clutched desperately at the soft cloth in his lap with the hand that was not tightly strapped down against his waist, something he could never have done to himself one handed. He ran his fingers over it, held it up to his face to inspect it. In the firelight he could make out that it was a rich velvet, the shade of a blood red garnet. A sharp crackle and a sudden flare of flame showed him the shape of a hood. A cloak, someone had covered him with a woman’s cloak, something he’d never seen the likes of before. He forced himself to breathe evenly, conscious of the wounds he had suffered. His shoulder pulled as he looked around and he let out a weak groan even as he tried to suppress it. He noticed the sudden movement of a dark mass at the mouth of the cave, like whatever it was had been startled. Arthur caught his breath but the mass moved toward him.

The blue eyed man’s words echoed through his mind…

“Your dog will be here when you awaken.”

Arthur was wary, but he instinctively felt safe even though he should have been afraid. He dropped the cloak and reached out to the shadowy mass and felt coarse fur beneath his fingertips just as the firelight illuminated the animal. The dog, his dog, as he'd said in his fever dream to the blue eyed man. The dog butted its head up against Arthur’s palm and Arthur felt relief flood his body, his tense muscles immediately relaxing. The dog smiled when Arthur rubbed his thumb between its eyes, breath hot against his forearm. Arthur had never been this close to the dog before, had heard stories about the animal’s eerie eyes, but he’d never seen them for himself. They were so blue even in the half light of the cave, so human, so familiar.

“What are you?” Arthur whispered, disbelief coloring his words. The dog licked his hand before curling up against his hip. Even lying down, the dog nearly dwarfed Arthur, its shoulders rising and falling just below his ribcage with each of its breaths.  
Arthur gently pressed his index finger to the fur covering the dog’s shoulder blade and began to trace the dark swirling patterns in the white coat. The animal shivered beneath his touch, rolling one eye to watch his face from beneath surprisingly thick, black lashes. Arthur followed the whorls until they ended in pointed curls over the animal’s hips. The dog whined and shifted beneath Arthur’s hand, rolling onto its back and exposing its vulnerable pink belly. Arthur’s fingers stayed splayed over the dog’s body, its skin warm beneath his palm. Arthur’s chest tightened and his pinky twitched when he noticed the state of the dog’s arousal, the blood red head of its cock only beginning to peek out from beneath the animal’s furry sheath.

The animal’s head lolled to the side and it watched him, eyes glittering in the firelight. Arthur could feel the dog observing him, appraising him in a way entirely unnatural for a beast. It was more cognizant than any animal Arthur had ever encountered. When the dog’s lip curled up just before its tongue slipped out to lap at its muzzle, belly trembling beneath Arthur’s palm as if in laughter, Arthur was reminded of an image of the blue eyed man smirking at him before licking his lips as he watched Arthur in his dreams.

“What are you?” Arthur whispered again, snatching his hand away before he could give in to the urge to inch his fingers just that little bit lower.

…

Arthur had checked the moon cycle before embarking on his quest and he knew that the moon was due to be full in one night and one day from when he had left. The wood was so dark that it no longer mattered whether he traveled by day or night and he knew his injuries would slow him drastically. He'd packed enough food for a week's time, so if he didn't die of infection, he was likely to starve to death.

Arthur draped the red cloak over his shoulders and clutched it closed with his free hand. He was unable to relight the fire as it began to die out and the night... or day - he had no idea how long he'd slept- had turned cold. He shivered, despite the warmth of the beast by his side. The dog watched him with hooded eyes as a mother would watch a babe play, ever vigilant. Arthur shared with it as much of the dried meat as he felt he could spare and leaned against its overly warm body when he no longer had the strength to hold himself upright. He felt eager to be moving, a desperate voice in his head telling him that if he could just reach the witch he might live. There were more predators waiting in the woods, but Arthur felt safe with the dog. He didn't know why, aside from the incident with bear, but Arthur felt certain that the dog would die for him, and he felt, without reason, that he would do the same.

The wood was making him mad.

Arthur was desperate to leave it, but he was so far off the trail that he had no idea how to get back to the safety of the village, and anyway, if the wood didn't kill him, Saito surely would if he failed. Arthur laid his hand over the animal's head and the dog pushed up into it, closing its eyes in bliss. Arthur was not dumb, but he was doubtful. He was attached to a dreamwalker, but he tended to shun all other forms of magick as myth. He'd heard stories of witches and faeries and shape-shifting gypsies, but Dom's witch was the first properly magical being he'd ever knowingly encountered. It made him uneasy to ponder that the dog might be the second. He stubbornly avoided the obvious answer even as the dog watched him with the blue eyed man's knowing gaze.

...

He forced himself to move when the dog grew antsy. Arthur had no idea how long he'd spent in the cave, but he knew there was nothing for him if he stayed there. He'd let the dog guide him if he had to, but he had to push forward. To keep moving was his only hope. He'd managed to knot the cloak around his neck and it fell to the top of his boots when he pushed himself to standing, his pack slung over his good shoulder. He kept his bow and the few arrows he had, though they were useless as any kind of defense with only one arm. His knife was gone, probably still embedded in the bear's back. The dog paced around him, flicking worried glances at Arthur every time he grunted with the strain of standing and of moving.

He ran his hand along the animal's flank and whispered, "get me to the witch," before bracing himself for the long journey ahead.

They struggled through the underbrush for what felt, to Arthur, like hours before coming upon a clearing and a small brook. Arthur heard the babbling of the water before they reached it and the sound of it and the dog's constant glances spurred him on. He was wary of being out in the open, but he was also filthy and the chance to wash himself even slightly was too enticing. He wouldn't be able to remove the dressings on his chest, despite his desire to see the damage, because he wouldn't be able to redress himself, so he'd have to wait. The ache in his chest had diminished significantly over time, so he would have to force himself to trust the ministrations of his mystery protector- because the blue eyed man wasn't real- rather than taking any chances of making his injuries worse.  
It was only until he was well into the clearing that he thought to check the sky. A break in the branches allowed for just a shaft of light to reach the ground but through it, Arthur could see that twilight was fading into deep night and that the moon was bright and full. He sat in the high grass and leaned over the brook, cupping water in his palm to splash on his face and into his hair- the only parts of his body he could reach that weren't wrapped in bandages. He watched the purple clouds of twilight disappear in the reflection of the water as he contemplated his next steps, until it was only the moon's flickering image staring back at him in the constantly moving water.

After Arthur had caught his breath and felt ready enough to head on, he looked around the little clearing for the dog, who, after lapping at the brook for a moment, had disappeared into the bushes somewhere behind him. He felt that the animal was not far and, in fact, the dog appeared at his side at the first turn of his head. Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead to the dog's cheek and was surprised when the dog pressed back, forcefully. Confused, Arthur tried to sit back, but the dog continued to press forward, crowding Arthur and forcing him to scramble one-handed to his knees. The look in the dog's eyes was one of intense focus as it moved on Arthur, head-butting his shoulder and growling lowly. Arthur's heart raced as he tried, futilely, to get away from the animal he'd thought had been protecting him.

Even still, Arthur wanted to reach out to the beast, believing he could calm it, so convinced that the dog wouldn't hurt him. But he'd seen this look in the animal's face before, that night through the window. Adrenaline coursed through Arthur's body and he felt himself begin to harden in response to it. He panicked as the dog pushed him again, knocking him to the side so that he was forced to put out his good arm to stop himself from falling. His hair fell into his eyes and as he slowly looked up through the curtain of curls, he saw the animal approaching, muscles rippling beneath its coat of fur. But as the dog stopped moving, trapping Arthur against the ground with its bulk, breath hot against the side of his face, the muscles continued to ripple and change, the fur disappearing into smooth human skin, the blue eyes narrowing in a different face.

Arthur had just a moment to gasp before his hair was grabbed by a not quite human hand and his head was pulled forward, baring the nape of his neck, the sharp prick of teeth pressing against his skin keeping him still.  
Arthur could tell by feel that the teeth were sharp, like an animal’s, though the body bracketing his was no longer that of the dog. It was something else entirely, humanoid but not nearly human. The adrenaline coursing through his veins urged him to move, to lash out and escape by any means possible, but the beast had a hold of his neck, sharp teeth digging in on either side of his spinal cord. It had yet to break the skin, but Arthur didn’t doubt that if he were to move, it wouldn’t continue to be so gentle.  
Arthur’s arm shook and gave at the elbow from supporting the weight of two bodies, dropping him to ground sharply. He groaned at the pain in his shoulder, but the movement had brought the body behind his into alignment with his own and he could suddenly feel the persistent press of the beast’s erection against the cleft of his ass. The beast growled low in its throat and rutted up against him once and then twice and Arthur felt his own adrenaline fueled erection jerk within the confines of his pants. He gasped and thrust his hips forward in an attempt to find friction, but he was still on his knees and his thrusts were met with only air.

The pointed grip on his neck loosened and Arthur could feel a tongue lapping the sweat from his skin. The beast still held a hard grip on Arthur’s hair, holding his head down to keep access to his neck open, but the other began to explore, petting and stroking roughly over Arthur’s belly, hips, and thighs, brushing with infuriating lightness over his groin even as the beast continued to rut behind him.

“Yes,” the beast hissed, breath hot and wet against Arthur’s skin, teeth grazing over the bruising indents they’d left.

Arthur could see the brook from where he was pinned, face turned to the side, cheek pressed firmly into the grass, but he could see nothing of his assailant. He could only feel the heat of the beast’s body against his own, the insistent press of its erection, the sharp points of its teeth, the wet heat of its breath. But Arthur knew who it was because he had seen how the dog changed, had seen the blue of its eyes.

The roaming hand finally settled on the waist of his pants, pulling roughly at the drawstring in an effort to get it untied. It was no gentle caress, but a desperate groping, the way the beast yanked at the cloth, pulling them down to his knees with no concern for the soft, pink skin beneath them. Arthur’s cloak was draped over his injured shoulder, spread out like a puddle of velvet blood over the grass. Arthur could feel the beast’s claws scratching teasingly over his cheeks, fingers pulling him apart, the heavy warmth of its body gone from his back, the hand from his hair now gripping his hip in a hold nearing painful. The beast buried its head between them and inhaled deeply, absorbing Arthur’s musk. Arthur shivered and colored, rubbing his face against the grass as he moaned. He was humiliated and frightened, but he was hard and leaking, his cock aching in the cool air. When the beast lapped at him with its tongue, Arthur cried out, fisting his good hand in the ground and clawing up dirt.

The beast growled and the rumble of it sent chills up Arthur’s spine, vibrating through him from the point of their connection all the way to his fingertips. Arthur could feel the foreign texture of the beast’s tongue, rougher than a human’s, opening him up and delving into him with abandon. He panted and writhed into the ground, heedless of the way it might aggravate his wounds. His mind was awash with pleasure and the keen edge of embarrassment, being taken so fully and roughly and with no idea of his taker’s appearance, something half beast and half man. The beast swirled its tongue around Arthur’s hole, tasting his inner walls and making him mad with ecstasy, until he was coated with its gooey saliva, wet and open, and begging for it like a village harlot.  
There was no press of fingers against him, no easy stretch to make him ready. Immediately, Arthur felt the beast’s cockhead pressing into him, stretching him wide around it with little patience. It was like a man’s, the bulbous head flaring out, forcing Arthur to stretch to accommodate it, before the thinner shaft could enter him. Arthur moaned at the intrusion, hips twitching in indecision, trying to pull away but also pushing back against it. It was thick and Arthur could feel the stretch in his bones, his entire body aching with it. The saliva coating him eased the push, until the cockhead was entirely in. Arthur sobbed softly into the grass, his entire body feeling already wrung out. He waited for the beast to become fully seated against his thighs but instead felt himself stretched even wider as another swelling at the base of the beast’s cock forced him open even further. Arthur’s cries of pain and pleasure bounced back at him off of the tree trunks and his eyes opened wide in recognition.

He’d seen dogs fucking before and he hadn’t realized that if his current lover were really half human and half dog it might have the same type of sexual organs. The beast’s penis was some sort of amalgamation of the both with the flared cockhead of a man and the swollen knot of a canine. It became clear in Arthur’s mind that this was no random attack. His dog had not suddenly become overwhelmed with a simple need to fuck. The beast’s weight returned to his back as it forced the knot into Arthur, its thighs twitching with the need to fuck with abandon against Arthur’s own, and he could feel the beast’s bite once more at his neck. The beast, whatever it was, was mating with him.

The realization sent Arthur tumbling over the edge, his cock shooting long ropes of cum over his belly and chest without ever being touched. His ass clenched against the beast and the pressure of teeth on his skin was lost as the beast threw back its head and howled to the moon. Any pretext of patience was lost then as the beast began to fuck in and out of Arthur without rhythm, its cockhead pressing insistently at a spot inside of him that sent gushes of warmth through his body and had his cock slowly hardening again before it had gone completely flaccid, the knot keeping him stretched wide open.

Sweat pooled on Arthur’s back where the beast’s chest was pressed against him, covered in a fine layer of, what Arthur by now knew, would be white hair. The beast’s cock was longer than any man’s and it never pulled out fully even as it thrust back and forth, keeping Arthur completely full at all times, the knot continuously stretching him. The beast alternately groaned like a man and growled like a dog as it thrust, fucking Arthur so thoroughly he was sure he wouldn’t move for days afterward. Arthur clenched again, tightening his canal against the beast’s ridged cock and the beast collapsed against him, chest rumbling against Arthur’s back as it came, pumping hot liquid deep into him, searing him inside. The beast never stilled, instead fucking him through it, pushing its come deeper inside of him, filling him up entirely.

Arthur could feel the knot swell inside of him, keeping them locked together even as the beast continued to move, cockhead still hitting that place inside of Arthur with agonizing regularity. It sent white hot shivers through him, turning his limbs to liquid. His thighs trembled beneath the beast’s weight. Arthur could hear very little past the roaring in his ears, but he heard the beast growl, “mine” as it wrapped a furred and clawed hand around his rock hard cock and stroked once. The force of Arthur’s second orgasm knocked his knees from beneath him and shrouded his vision in black, the beast still tied to him, keeping him filled with its cum.  
…  
Arthur could not be sure how much time had passed between closing his eyes and opening them again. The sky was still dark and the moon still full; the beast was still tied to him, still thick and swollen. Arthur’s entire body felt heavy and weak; he wanted to curl in on himself and just sleep, but the beast was still draped over him and it was warm as much as uncomfortable. Arthur had seen domesticated dogs copulate and he knew it could take as much as half an hour for them to fully separate. He had no idea how long it would take for a beast cursed such as this one was.

He drifted in and out, somehow comforted enough by the rhythmic breathing of the beast against his back to doze. Without a time piece he could not know how long it had been, but then finally he became aware of the beast softening inside him, the knot disappearing, the bond becoming undone. He whined slightly at the feeling of being empty when the beast finally pulled out of him, inch by excruciating inch. When it was finally done, Arthur curled on his side and allowed himself to fully look over the animal, avoiding the eyes, wary of antagonizing the beast. There was no way to know, despite the instances of gentleness the beast had showed him, what kind of damage such a creature would be willing to do if angered.

The beast was large, entirely taut muscle beneath a fine coat of pure white fur. It was not so dense as the dog’s but it was the same shade, covering its shoulders and back, fluffing around the base of the shaft, still impressively large even flaccid. From where he lay, Arthur could see the black markings that he had come to know so well. They curled about the beast’s shoulders and twisted down its arms to the wrists. There were rune markings on the beast’s chest and one line of what might be a spell trailing along its hipbone. Arthur didn’t have to look upon the beast’s face to know it would be nearly canine, but beneath the animal-like features, the cheekbones would be high, the lips plump; the eyes would be blue.

The beast crouched and watched Arthur warily. Arthur kept his eyes averted and kept still, until a breeze chilled him, reminding him of his nudity and the semen now trickling out of him. Wearily, he reached for the waist of his pants and began struggling to pull them up and then to pull the edges of the cloak around his shoulders. It hurt to sit, but if he rolled to sit slightly more on one hip than the other and leaned his back against a tree, he was alright. The beast watched him do it all, until it seemed it was finally satisfied and suddenly bounded off into the brush.

An anemic thought of running passed through Arthur’s mind but it was worthless. Even if he could muster the energy to flee, he wouldn’t make it far. And somehow, he still felt safer where he could be close to the dog, beast though it was. The blue-eyed man had taken care of him, the dog had protected him. He owed it to them not to flee at the first sight of what they became when merged together. Arthur remained huddled in his cloak and hoped he was not come upon by something else before the beast came back, and Arthur didn’t doubt that it would.

Sometime later the beast did return, dragging with it the carcass of an unfortunate deer. It eyed Arthur and then quickly threw the carcass over a low hanging branch of Arthur’s tree, with astonishing ease. Once it felt the deer was secured, the beast dropped to all fours and crawled toward Arthur, surprisingly tentatively. Arthur forced himself not to flinch as the beast invaded his space, dipping its head to sniff at Arthur’s hairline and nuzzle the space beneath his jaw where his pulse danced beneath his skin.

Arthur felt the beast’s breath against his neck before it whispered, “mine. You're mine now.” The beast curled around Arthur, shifting him slowly so that he lay encompassed by the warmth of the beast’s body, his head pillowed on its muscled chest. He fell asleep to the sound of the beast’s whispered mantra and the steady lift and fall of its chest against his back. For the first time since he was injured, Arthur slept truly and deeply, and for the first time in a long time, Arthur dreamed of something other than the blue-eyed man.

…

 

The dream was clear, clearer than even the memories he somehow knew they were based off of. He was a child again, orphaned in a violent raid on his village, and he could feel the pain and loneliness of it completely anew. He had no one in the world until Dom found him hiding, shivering and sniffling in a half burned down home. They were the only two left, terrified and alone. Dom had told him that made them brothers and that they would take care of each other. They had traveled far, staying in one place for only short periods of time. They picked pockets and told lies and used Arthur’s youth to take advantage of the sympathies of others. It was lonely and tiring, but Arthur was very young and knew no better than to do whatever Dom said.

The dream changed to a time when Arthur was ten and they’d been on the run for two long years. They had come across a band of travelers, who let them warm themselves by the fire and fed them and gave them a place to rest, but the travelers were a wary kind and had sent Dom and Arthur on their own way before the morning had even come. Arthur had enjoyed the stories the travelers told and the way they danced in the shadows of the flames, the dark ink of their tattoos almost like living things, writhing on their skin. There had been a boy, who had been of an age somewhere between Arthur’s own and Dom’s. Arthur had thought they could become friends, but one night was not enough time and that possible friendship had been lost to Arthur before he’d even been able to learn the other boy’s name. Arthur had been melancholy, but he had followed Dom dutifully.  
Arthur dreamed of it clearly, even though he hadn’t thought about this time in his life in years. He had felt youthful but heavy in a way no child ever should, his steps slow as he walked along a path, every so often kicking at a rock in his way. Dom was trying to hunt and he’d been sent to fetch water and he wasn’t paying attention the way he should have been. He was taken by surprise by the young wolf that limped into his path. It was gray with dust and dirt, but Arthur could see the true color of its pale fur beneath the grime, and its eyes were the brightest blue, brighter even than Dom’s. The little wolf was injured and Arthur had immediately fallen in love with it. He’d struggled to carry the wolf pup back to their camp with his tiny ten year old body, but he’d been determined, certain the little wolf was an orphan just like he and Dom and that it needed him.

Dom’s eyes had grown wide and fearful when Arthur brought the pup to him and it had left Arthur confused and slightly afraid, but Dom didn’t make him give the pup up, not right away. The memories blurred together, the happiness of those few days when Arthur had finally found a friend, coloring the dream. But it hadn’t lasted and it didn’t last in the dream either. Dom told him that he couldn’t keep the pup, that somewhere it had a pack and they would be looking for it. Arthur cried, fat, heart wrenching tears, but he let Dom carry the pup deep into the wood, because Dom was sixteen and he knew so much more than Arthur thought he ever would.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Dom had whispered into his hair that night as he’d held Arthur through his tears. Arthur had not thought about the travelers or the wolf pup since that day.

But, in his dream, Arthur saw where Dom took the pup, saw it transform into a little boy, and sit pouting until a trio of grown men found him. One of the men swept the boy up into his arms, scolding him in a voice tinged with the kind of fond exasperation only manageable by a parent. Arthur saw the little boy grow, saw him dance in the shadows of a fire, saw him tattooed in the dark of a small tent, black ink set deep in his skin- the markings of a gypsy. The little boy became a man, but he never seemed to stop watching the edge of whatever camp his tribe set up, as if waiting for someone to come to him, or waiting for his chance to go.  
…  
When Arthur woke, the sun had risen and the little clearing was bright green with light filtering through the canopy. The beast was no longer curled around Arthur’s back and Arthur felt actual disappointment about it, until he noticed the sound of a fire crackling and the mouth-watering scent of meat cooking. He blinked his eyes fully open to see a man skewering pieces of meat with a stick. The man turned when he heard Arthur moving. His eyes were downcast and his shoulders were hunched as if in shame.

“Alright?” The man’s voice was tentative and quiet. Nothing about this broken person sat well with Arthur’s notion of the blue-eyed man or the dog.

“Fine,” Arthur responded softly.

Arthur awkwardly pushed onto his knees and crawled to the fire. The man glanced at him quickly out of the corner of his eye and Arthur found himself annoyed by this, wishing the man would behave in the way that Arthur had come to associate with the man of his dreams. He reached out, but hesitated before his fingers could brush against the man’s skin. The man looked at him with caution clouding the blue eyes that Arthur was so used to seeing sparkle. He slowly leaned into Arthur’s space, wary and unsure. He seemed to be lost in a fit of self-loathing, perhaps because of what had transpired the night before, of the beast he’d become. Confidence growing, Arthur brushed his fingers against the black ink of the man’s tattoos, tracing the lines the way he’d done to the dog before. He remembered the images of his dream quite vividly, and the stories that Dom had told him but that he hadn't believed. Dom had been afraid of Arthur's wolf pup because he had seen it for what it truly was- an unwitting danger because of the strength of gypsy bonds.

“You’re a gypsy.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And cursed.”

The man dropped his gaze to Arthur’s shoulder. “I am.”

Arthur pressed harder against the man’s tattoos, felt the way the skin was rougher there.

“The men of the village say the witch cursed you for trying to leave her.”

The man’s lip curled up in the faintest trace of a smile and Arthur was glad for it. “You shouldn’t believe the tales that idle tongues will tell. Mal is no witch and I've no mistress but the moon. I left my tribe for an outsider and broke my family bonds.” He grasped Arthur’s fingers and brought them down to trace the spell along his hip. “This is my curse.”

Arthur’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. Every intimate touch, every shared breath as they leaned together, felt right, as if he’d been waiting for this his entire life.

“Did you leave for her? Did you love her?”

The man’s eyes softened and he smiled, almost amused at what he correctly perceived to be a hint of jealousy in Arthur’s words. “No, pet. She simply offered me a way and I took it. We were both lonely and longing for persons we barely knew. We’ve a mutually beneficial partnership now. Twas easier to search together than alone.”

“Why was that?”

The man looked up slowly, watching Arthur from beneath thick lashes. “The man she was searching for fit the description of a young man I met once. I thought I could help her find him.”

Arthur pulled his fingers from the man’s grip and traced the lines over the man’s shoulder, trailing his fingertips over the skin of his neck and then the line of his jaw. “And who was it you were looking for?”

The man’s eyes sparkled, like the stars in the night sky, or the reflection of the moon in the ripples of a pond. Arthur was entranced.

“When I met the young man he was traveling with a little boy who smiled so widely when he saw me, I believe the sun may have shined brighter for him at that moment. I feigned injury to catch his attentions and he carried me back to his camp though, even as a wolf pup, my bulk was far greater than his. He slept curled around me for two nights until I had to go away and he wept great, big tears when we couldn’t be together. I fell in love with that loyal little boy and I’ve never forgotten him. I cursed myself for him… for you.” The man’s voice grew breathy and light. He set the meat aside and curled his fingers beneath Arthur’s ear.

“Was it worth it?” Arthur’s chest clenched, but not with the sense of apprehension he had long been used to feeling. He was happy, happier than he’d been in a very long time. He smiled and the man’s eyes twinkled.

“Yes. Every full moon that I have endured has been worth it. I never doubted I would find you and that you would love me in return.”

Arthur’s fingers found their way into the man’s hair, twisting in the sweat dampened locks. “Tell me your name.”

“Eames.”

“Eames,” Arthur rolled the name on his tongue then pressed it back into the man’s mouth as he slotted their lips together and tasted the blue-eyed man fully for the first time.

Eames was gentle with Arthur, the way he’d been in the cave when Arthur had still believed him to be a dream, without the carnal pull of the moon commanding him. He stroked Arthur’s jaw and cheekbone with his thumb as he devoured Arthur’s mouth. Those plush lips against Arthur’s own felt like the softest of pillows, warm and insistent but pliant all the same.

Eames’s other hand stroked along Arthur’s side, beneath the cloak, over the come-spattered and ragged bandages and down over his belly to the front of his trousers. Arthur’s breath hitched in the kiss and he was already hard again, straining against the soft leather. Arthur could feel Eames’s own erection pressing insistently against him and he wanted to feel it heavy in his palm, but he had only the one hand and it was still curled in Eames’s hair and his mind couldn’t seem to focus long enough to command that his fingers release their hold.

It mattered not, though, when Eames’s clever fingers wrapped around Arthur and pulled him out, the ties still undone from before. Eames leaned into him and gently laid him down, careful not to put any pressure on his chest or shoulder. When Eames slotted their hips together and wrapped thick, calloused fingers around both of their cocks, holding them firm against each other, mixing the slick of their pre-come as he smeared it over the both of them, Arthur let out a keening cry that had a flock of birds escaping in flight from the trees above them. He kept his grip in Eames’s hair, pulling Eames’s mouth to his, unwilling to break contact even to breathe.

Eames against him felt like the home Arthur had never known, safe and warm and so perfect that he physically ached for more. He would have demanded Eames inside him, had he thought he could bear the pain of it again so soon. As it was, they rutted together in the grass, sweet and slow pleasure in contrast to the desperate mating of the beast, until something broke inside of Arthur and all of his carefully constructed walls seemed to crumble in the face of the overwhelming love he suddenly felt. It was illogical and immature, but it was undeniable.

If this was the way Dom felt about the witch- Eames had called her Mal- then perhaps Arthur had been wrong to anger so quickly, for the way Eames enveloped him as his orgasm subsided and held him close as the aftershocks of the most intense pleasure he’d ever known racked his body was something Arthur now knew he would never give up, not on pain of death. But nothing could alleviate the bitter pain Arthur still felt when he thought of what Dom had been reduced to, nothing save the words of the witch herself.  
…  
Arthur remained in the grass, cradled in Eames’s embrace until both of their bodies ceased to shudder and their breath had returned to them. He had no real desire to be parted, still feeling like there was nowhere else in the world that would feel quite as right as the little clearing did at that moment, but his skin was beginning to protest the thick layer of grit and blood and come coating it. He shifted against Eames as best he could with only one arm for leverage, tugging lightly on Eames hair, and then harder when the man only nuzzled at his neck contentedly. Finally Eames sighed and released Arthur, backing away from him to sit on his knees, his cock still softening. Wet seed glistened on his belly, dripping in fat, milky, globs from the coarse hair there. Arthur rolled onto his side and pushed himself up to sit. His entire body ached with fatigue, but he was tired of sleeping. He didn’t want to even blink, didn’t want to let Eames from his sight for an instant now that he could be sure Eames was real.

Arthur let his gaze rake over Eames’s body, his thick limbs and roped muscle, the black ink decorating his skin. Arthur could feel himself stirring again impossibly and he reached out to swipe his fingers through the puddle of come still sticking to Eames’s belly. He brought them to his lips and let his tongue dart out to taste, delighting in Eames’s low whine as he watched. He reached out again, once he’d licked his fingers clean, but Eames caught his wrist and lifted his hand to press a kiss to his palm.

“No more of that,” he whispered, lips still pressed to Arthur’s skin.

“Would you wash me then?” Arthur grimaced when, at that moment, the come still within him began to trickle out.

“Of course, darling.” Eames’s eyes sparkled as he coaxed Arthur to return to his back, stroking his sides and thighs and urging Arthur to curl his legs as close to his chest as he could.

The movement pulled at his chest wounds but not nearly enough to discourage him. A cool breeze against his bare bottom made him shiver, but almost immediately Eames ducked his head, his hands braced against Arthur’s thighs, and there was hot breath against his bruised hole. Arthur gasped at the first lick of Eames’s tongue against him, so much softer and smaller than the beast’s had been. The wet muscle was unbelievably hot but soothing to Arthur’s raw skin and he found himself struggling to push back against Eames’s mouth, to draw his tongue in deeper, wishing it could be his cock. Eames hummed against him and squeezed Arthur’s thighs, holding them still.

Much like their coupling, the soft and slow strokes of Eames’s tongue were hardly reminiscent of the frantic licks of the beast, of the way it had chafed at his skin all in its attempt to get him wet enough to take its cock. Eames tongued him slowly, agonizingly slowly, holding him in place despite his desperation. Arthur clawed at the ground, at Eames’s shoulder, at the base of his neck, as he cried out his pleasure. It seemed too long and equally too short a time before Eames ceased his ministrations and raised his head, allowing Arthur’s legs to fall. Arthur was panting, but he had not hardened again, despite the pleasure burning in his gut. He was too wrung out to come again, whether he would have liked to or not.

“There then, now for the rest of you.” Eames slipped his arm beneath Arthur’s shoulders and helped him to sit, edging both of their bodies closer to the brook. He took one corner of Arthur’s cloak and dipped it in the water, using it to wipe the congealing seed from both Arthur’s belly and his own. “Are you hungry yet, pet?”

It was only then that Arthur’s stomach began to growl. He nodded and leaned back into Eames for support as the other man helped him back into his pants and then reached for the forgotten venison.

…

 

They ate in silence, pressed against each other in one long, warm line. Arthur’s thoughts strayed to Dom. It had been two days and three nights now that he had been gone. He wondered if Dom had woken or if he stayed lost in the false reality that the witch had fed him. Arthur suddenly felt a surge of guilt for allowing himself to be injured and for becoming distracted by his own emotions. He did not regret Eames, would never he felt sure, but he was suddenly overcome with the need to move on. Much as he would have liked to remain in this small clearing with this cursed gypsy for possibly the rest of his days, he needed to find the witch and to save Dom. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t. Dom had saved him and raised him. Dom deserved this last act of loyalty before Arthur would ever feel content to begin a life of his own without him.

Perhaps Arthur had tensed as a result of his thoughts, or perhaps his connection to Eames was truly as strong as their shared dreams would have him hope, but Eames seemed to sense Arthur’s distress. He brushed the edge of Arthur’s cloak out of his way and pressed a kiss wet with the juices of the meat he had been eating to Arthur’s shoulder.

“I need to see the witch.”

Eames huffed against Arthur’s skin and pressed his forehead to the spot he had just kissed. “I told you, Arthur, Mal is no witch. She is a dreamwalker, same as your man Cobb. That is why their connection is so strong.”

Arthur pulled away from Eames’s embrace and watched him with hard eyes.

“Is it? You tell me she’s not a witch, but then how am I to explain what has become of Dom? He doesn’t wake except to spout nonsense about a life he hasn’t lived. How can you expect me to believe that she hasn’t infected him somehow? That she hasn’t infected the entire village?” Arthur stopped speaking abruptly, inhaling sharply with a sudden realization. He clutched at his chest, as if that could stop the sudden pain in his heart. “Eames. How am I to believe that she hasn’t infected me?”

Eames grabbed for him roughly, grasping his biceps tightly, jarring his shoulder and causing him to shout and clench his jaw. Eames didn’t release his hold, though, instead jostling Arthur until he met Eames gaze, eyes softening. “You stubborn fool. You’ve followed your dreamwalker your entire life and never questioned him, but what has he truly taught you? He’s kept you sheltered, kept you reliant upon him, and now you would question your own happiness because it doesn’t fit with what you’ve been trained to believe.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes but did not try to shake off Eames grip. Despite the renewed throbbing in his shoulder, the other man’s hold grounded him and he felt himself leaning into the heat of Eames’s body. “But how can I be sure? You were in my mind. How can I be sure she didn’t put you there to leave me weak?”

Eames pulled Arthur to him, the heat of his skin melting Arthur’s tension. “I would never betray you, Arthur. Never. Love is not a sickness. It’s not a parasite. I left my entire life behind for you, turned myself into a monster. I’ll not have you let your sodding fears come between us now.” Eames’s voice lowered to a growl, angry and rough in Arthur’s ear. Arthur shuddered and collapsed against Eames’s solid chest.

“I couldn’t leave you now to spare my own life,” he sobbed into Eames’s muscle, grasping at the other man’s neck in desperation, for it was the truth. He knew it as surely as he knew he needed to breathe air and that he needed to eat and drink water. It was imprinted upon his soul.

“Nor I you, Arthur. Nor I you.”  
…  
They didn’t set off right away, instead savoring the last few moments of this tentative peace they’d created, picking at the venison and mindlessly eating until their bellies began to protest. Arthur didn’t allow himself to wonder what would become of them once this quest was finished. He could only keep focused on his next step and hope for success, because failure would mean his head.

“You’ll need a torch,” Eames warned, once they’d stowed the rest of the meat in Arthur’s bag. “Once we leave this clearing the wood will be dark as night despite the time of day. My eyes can adjust, but you’ll be good as blind.”

“Won’t a torch draw attention?” Arthur swallowed, thinking of the bear. He was barely more than useless after that attack, he didn’t need to make himself any more conspicuous. The woods were a foreign world to him, an element he could not hope to master and that left him frustrated and feeling impotent. Were it not for Eames he’d go mad, he’d be already dead.

Eames smirked at him, fat lips tucking up at the corner in the way Arthur had come to expect. It imbued confidence and reassured him. He hardly wanted to seem hesitant or frightened, years of traveling with Dom having ingrained in him a need to be always guarded, but Eames had no cause to judge him for his weaknesses. Eames’s smallest reactions, though not even calculated, did much to calm Arthur and he was grateful for it.

“If it does, I will be there. I won’t be leaving your side this time.” Eames’s expression darkened slightly as he thought of Arthur’s attack, as if he blamed himself for it.

Arthur hated the look and immediately reached out to smooth it from Eames’s face with his fingertips. Eames turned his cheek into Arthur’s palm for a blissful moment, eyes falling closed, before sighing and pushing to his feet. He crouched by Arthur’s leg, the quick flash of an elongated incisor the only warning Arthur was given before Eames was biting through the soft leather of his pant leg and ripping it away below the knee.

Arthur frowned at him. “Shall I be as naked as you when we finally make our destination?” His voice was flat but there was amusement glittering in his dark eyes.

Eames smiled sheepishly and darted in to press a quick but purposeful kiss to his lips, before moving away. "I would not be so disappointed by that," he whispered, chuckling at Arthur's blush.

Arthur watched in silence as Eames constructed his torch from a fallen tree branch and some twigs and the last bit of fat left on the deer’s carcass, all wrapped tightly with the strip of leather from Arthur’s pant leg. The look in his eyes was warm and confident as he reached out a hand to help haul Arthur to his feet and made sure the pack was secure on his back beneath the cloak, before handing him the crude torch. Eames removed Arthur’s spark rocks from the pack and Arthur was not in the least bit surprised to see Eames easily light the torch on his first attempt. He didn’t accuse Eames of showing off, though the smug arch of the gypsy’s brow told him that was exactly the case.

Eames ducked in once more, avoiding the crackling blaze of the torch, to press one last quick kiss to Arthur’s jaw. Arthur let his gaze rake a final time over Eames’s sturdy form and then the man was a man no longer. The transformation was quicker than Arthur had imagined it would be, with none of the bone cracking and howls of pain that Arthur had come to expect from horror stories told in feared bias of the gypsies, but it was nonetheless unsettling. For an instant Arthur saw the beast as fur sprouted down Eames’s arms and chest and legs, as his teeth grew long and sharp and his nose and mouth became a snout, but then there was only the dog sitting patiently at his feet, watching him with a lopsided smile, tongue dangling fat and wet over the side of its mouth. Arthur smiled in return and would have laid his hand on Eames’s head just to feel the ridges of his skull beneath his palm, had he a hand to spare.

…

 

The wood was dark but with the torch, Arthur was able to see at least a few feet in front of himself, could at least see Eames’s tail disturbing the undergrowth as he pushed through it, leaving a path of broken branches for Arthur to follow. Eames knew his way and Arthur could do nothing but trust his instincts, his map useless without the path. They moved quickly, a sudden urgency clawing at Arthur’s chest now that he had left the clearing behind. He couldn’t ask Eames if he felt the same, but the dog’s quick trot told him all that he needed to know. It had been twilight again when they left, the soft purple light of the sky had sent shivers down Arthur’s spine as he remembered the violent events of the night before, the insistence of the beast against him. Arthur had no idea how much time had passed since they began walking, his legs ached with the exertion, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask Eames to slow.

Slowly Arthur became aware of the canopy becoming thinner, moonlight making the trees and brush seem to sparkle. Arthur could feel it in the slow, tight clench in his chest- they were getting close. He’d face the witch soon. Eames’s trot slowed as he sniffed at the air, his steps became calculated and deliberate and his ears laid flat against his head. Arthur could not even hope to know what it was that had Eames so alert, but he kept his eyes open and scanned the brush for any sign of activity. Eames would know of anything before Arthur ever would, but it comforted him to pretend that he was even slightly able to take care of himself.

Eames’s ears perked up before Arthur ever heard the snap of a tree branch in the distance. There was little birdsong this deep in the wood and the snap was clear as a church's bell. Arthur’s heart stopped, terrifying images from the bear attack flashing through his mind. Eames’s promise of protection meant little against the memories of his white coat smeared with blood. Eames looked back at him, meeting his gaze through the flicker of the light from his torch. It was no longer eerie to see the humanity reflected back at him through those orbs, now that Arthur had seen the man inside for everything he was. Arthur didn’t know Eames’s next move, but he trusted it completely. He hesitated for only a moment when Eames turned his focus back to the wood and set off in the direction of the sound before he followed, shoulders set and courage mustered.  
Arthur stayed to the shadows when Eames began to slow, taking deliberate steps with his nose up, as if prepared for danger. Arthur couldn’t read his stance perfectly, but he saw no reason not to err on the side of caution.

“Eames! Ah, Ea-Eames. It’s just me.”

Arthur was shocked to hear another man’s voice this deep in the wilderness, even more surprised to see the man actually approach the wolf. He was not confident, even Arthur knew that to approach a wild animal with such plainly visible apprehension was no better than a death sentence, but Eames was no wild animal and walked straight to the man, ears perked up. Eames growled once, making the man visibly jump and swear.

“Damnit Eames. I brought you clothes, there is no reason to behave like an ass.”

Arthur chose to stay back until he could be sure Eames had not led them into some sort of a trap. The man was reed thin, hair falling to his shoulders in unwashed ropes. Arthur instinctively didn’t trust him. After a life spent primarily as a grifter, he knew another one by sight. The man reached into a sack thrown over his shoulder and pulled out a pile of beaten leather clothing and a pair of soft leather boots with jerky movements, tossing it all onto the grass at Eames’s paws. The dog snarled at him once, making the man sweat, before slowly transforming.

“Good man, Nash.” There was a smile in Eames’s voice as he stood, the muscles in his back rippling beneath his golden skin, such a contrast to the way they looked beneath a thick coat of fur. Arthur watched him dress, almost lamenting the loss of skin to the barrier of the leather breeches.

“I cannot understand why you won’t just change right away. You know I hate dealing with you in your wolf form. I’m liable to end up eaten after mistaking a real wolf for you.” The man’s confidence had seemed to return once Eames had become human again, and he now looked disgruntled rather than afraid.

“Not much fun in that, though, is there?”

When Eames had finished lacing his boots, Arthur grew impatient with waiting for a signal from him and came forward. The man looked up sharply at the sound of Arthur’s boot snapping a branch. His eyes narrowed and then widened when he took in Arthur’s state.

“Are you Dom?” He asked, taking a tentative step forward.

“No I-“

“That is Arthur,” Eames interrupted, slipping a worn leather vest over his bare shoulders.

“Arthur? But, I thought you were going to fetch Dom. How are we going to wake Mal without him?” The man that Eames had called Nash grew more desperate with each syllable, until he was near to whining like a small child.

“I will find a way. In the meanwhile, can you not see that Arthur is wounded?”

“I do not see why Arthur is here,” Nash retorted, arms crossed over his chest, but he looked over Arthur’s body and his glare softened.

Nash grasped his sack to his chest and began to walk in the direction that Arthur presumed he had come from. Arthur was annoyed by this Nash’s abrasive attitude, but Eames turned to him with a beckoning smile, hand held out open to hold Arthur’s own.

“The witch will not wake?” Arthur spoke up as they walked. A group of tents became visible after only a dozen or so strides. He imagined Nash had not known that Eames would be arriving at that very moment, but had instead been canvassing the immediate area just in case.

“Not a witch, my love,” Eames reminded him, tone impatient but fond.

“If she will not wake then how are we going to wake Dom?” Arthur growled in Eames’s ear, for some reason wary of having Nash overhear.

“I will find a way, Arthur,” Eames reassured him, squeezing his hand as they entered the small encampment. “You must trust me, love. I will not fail. I love you. I will do anything for you.”

“We will do this together,” Arthur amended, determination coloring his expression. There were more lives on the line than just his and failure was not a result that sat well with him, not after everything he’d been through.  
Nash called to him from over his shoulder, indicating a small tent off to the side of the little meadow they had entered. “I can help you in there, wash and redress your wounds.” He seemed earnest and innocuous enough, but Arthur felt no pull to be left alone with him. He had no interest at all in leaving Eames’s side.

He shook his head, staring straight at the largest tent. “After I have seen the witch. My wounds will wait.”

“Arthur.” Eames’s voice was pained, tired of reminding him. Arthur glared at him and bit his lip.

“I would like to see Mal first.”

Eames sighed and smiled at him, closed-lipped in a way that made him look like a little boy who had just been given everything he had ever wanted. He nodded at Nash, who shrugged and followed them into the tent. There were two pallets laid out on the floor and a table between them, on which there sat several vials and a mortar and pestle. Eames helped Arthur to sit on a stool near the opening flap of the tent and was at the second pallet in two long strides.

“What will you do?”

“The same thing he always does,” said Nash from behind him, as Eames swilled from a vial and lay down on the pallet next to a beautiful, sleeping woman. She was clearly the witch, and Arthur could see, just from the serenity in her face, why Dom could believe he was in love with her. She was lovely.

“What is it that he does?”

Nash sat on the floor next to Arthur, pulling a pile of clean cheesecloth into his lap and cutting it into strips with a knife that he took from his boot. “I can’t be sure, I never follow him down, but he does something. She’s not exactly lucid afterward, but it is the only way to wake her at all. I think he must show her memories, to bring her back to reality.”

It worried Arthur that Mal was so far not the great villain he had created in his mind, that she seemed to be as deeply disturbed as Dom had become.

“How did you come to be a part of this?” Arthur kept one eye on Eames and one on Nash as he waited.  
Nash actually chuckled, driving his knife through the cheesecloth in rough, jerky movements. “I was a thief once. I picked the pocket of the wrong man, a Lord Cobol, and he wanted me dead. I was running for my life when Mal and Eames found me. It was go with them or die. I chose to go.”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but a rustling from the pallets stopped him. The once prone bodies were shifting, Eames rising noticeably quicker than the woman. He was on his feet before she had managed to curl upon herself, holding her head.

“Eames,” she moaned and her voice was soft and sweet like birdsong. “Is he here? Where is he?” She peeked around the tent through her fingers, doe eyes widening when they landed on Arthur. “I know you,” she whispered.

“No,” Arthur said slowly, shaking his head.

“No, no I do. You are Arthur.” She pulled her hands from her face and crawled toward him. “I know you. But why are you here? Where is Dom?” Her voice raised, she reached out for Arthur, her fingers curled into a claw. “Where is Dom?”

“Mal!” Eames’s growl was loud in the small space and Mal stopped short.

“I- I am sorry.” She reached out again, this time to press the back of her hand against Arthur’s cheek. He flinched but allowed the touch, not wishing to upset her until he knew what she was capable of. “Will you leave us?” Her question was clearly directed at Eames, though she didn't look at him.

It was clear Eames wanted to argue, shoulders up and muscles tensed, but Mal spoke again first.

“I know he is yours, Eames. I would not dare hurt him. I wish only to speak with him.”

Eames was going to say no, but Arthur found himself enchanted by the heart-wrenching honesty in her eyes. “It’s alright.”

Eames didn’t move for a moment, but then his stance relaxed and he lumbered to the opening, slapping Nash on the shoulder as he passed. He paused next to Arthur’s stool and bent down, fisting his hand in Arthur’s curls and pulling his head back so that his mouth was easier for Eames to plunder. Eames kissed him slowly and deeply, possessively, only releasing him once Arthur had become nearly breathless.

“I will be just outside,” Eames whispered in his ear, and then he was dragging Nash away, leaving Arthur alone with the witch.  
“May I?” She asked, gesturing to the makeshift bandages. She looked sincere, but Arthur hesitated at the thought of allowing anyone but Eames so close to him.

He softened and nodded though, realizing that to him, Eames had been no better than a wishful hallucination when he had first tended to his wounds. He could be sure that Mal was real and he could feel safe knowing that Eames would be back with him in less than seconds should he shout. Mal gave him a soft smile and stroked his cheek one final time before undoing the clasp of his cloak and sliding it over his shoulders. Arthur had not seen the state of his shoulder since the attack and he winced now when he saw the mottled and purpled condition of his skin. Mal was gentle as she picked up the knife that Nash had abandoned, still stroking his skin to keep him calm and prove she meant no harm. She cut through the bandages carefully and slowly, so as not to so much as nick his skin.

“Eames said that you are a dreamwalker, like Dom,” Arthur said softly, not wishing to startle her when she had a sharp instrument so near to his body.

“You think it is an untruth?”

“The man who taught Dom was the first dreamwalker I have ever met.”

Mal glanced up at him, her smile gone sad. “I was taught by my father… before. It was what led me to Dom. We must have been very close once, possibly even in the same place. One night I dreamt of him and I knew, I knew right then that he was my soulmate. I dreamt of him every night after that, but I could not begin looking for him for a long time. I was fourteen then. I could see him in my dreams but I could only get images, ideas, of where he might be. It has taken me nearly half my life to get so close that I could actually share his dreams. I am not willing to let him go now that I have found him.” Her voice rose with her final statement, emotion plain in her face.

Arthur thought of Eames, for whom he had not even been searching, and despite his desire to hold on to his initial prejudice, he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t understand her desperation. Mal gingerly began to pull the dirty bandages away from his wounds, holding her hands noticeably away from the parts that were stained with seed, but making no comment of it. Arthur tried to hold still, but it stung.

“You said your father taught you before… before what?”

Mal paused, her fingers floating above the withered green herbs still packed into his wounds. “Oh, before. Before I was lost.” She pulled the first wad of herbs away, exposing raw skin, but Arthur was surprised to see that there was no infection and the gashes had even begun to heal. “Will you tell me, Arthur, what is the name of the village where you and Dom have settled?”

Arthur looked away from where she was digging the poultice out of his chest in surprise. “You do not know?”

“No. Dom does not dream of it much. He does not dream of his childhood either, perhaps it is too painful. But you are always there. That is how I know you. He values you greatly.”

“Dom is the only family I can remember,” Arthur said softly. “The village is called Totem. Dom is happy there. He says it is the first place that has felt like a home since we lost ours.” He stopped speaking when Mal gasped and froze, looking up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“That cannot be. I would know if I were this close to Totem. I cannot have been so close and not known!”

“Mal? Why would you have known?” Arthur risked laying his good hand against her neck, hoping to ease her sudden shaking.

“Because. Because I was born there. I lived in Totem.”

“But then you got lost,” Arthur prompted, trying to understand the tale that was unfolding before him.  
A single tear slid down Mal’s elegant cheek though her wide eyes were brimming with them. She wiped violently at her cheek and reached over to the table, grasping a small vial that sat next to the one Eames had drunk from. She busied herself with emptying the contents of the vial onto a clean cloth, not spilling any despite the way her hands shook.

“Your cloak, it was mine. It was the last thing I had from my home. When I was just a girl, I wandered into the woods. My papa had warned me many times not to stray from the path, but I did, and then I could not find my way back.” She paused to bring the saturated cloth to Arthur’s chest, cleaning away the dried blood and residue from the poultice. Arthur braced himself for the sting, but instead it was soothing, numbing the residual pain. “I was terrified and it was dark. I wandered alone for hours before I was finally found, but it was not by the men of my village. The wolves found me.”

“Gypsies.”

“Yes,” Mal sighed, finally reaching for the cheesecloth that Nash had cut. “I was kept isolated for months, groomed to be the perfect bride. The were-tribes are fiercely solitary. The boys are the only ones that change so they must find girls from outside of their tribes to prevent the consequences of inbreeding.”

“That is how you met Eames,” Arthur whispered, the pieces finally beginning to fall into place. Mal leaned forward to wrap the lengths of cheesecloth around his ribcage. She nodded, her soft curls tickling his bare skin.

“He was meant to be my husband, but by the time we were allowed to meet, I had begun dreaming of Dom and Eames had already fallen in love with you.”

Arthur felt a stab of jealousy that immediately melted into a surge of warmth. It was not Mal’s fault that Eames had nearly been hers first and it was terrible the way she had been brought to him.

“We were unable to escape for so long, because Eames had already tried to run after you once and I was an outsider. It is tradition for the boys to be bound on their fifteenth birthdays, but they tattooed Eames even before that, to insure we would not leave. But they did not understand the power of true love, the power of our loves. We were halves of two different wholes. We could not be expected to survive like that.”

“So you ran.”

Mal finished wrapping his chest and used the last of the cheesecloth to create a sling. Arthur’s shoulder was still sore, a deep, throbbing ache that persisted, but he had gained some movement back and didn’t need his entire arm kept tight to his body. Mal smiled at him, a true smile, overflowing with emotion. The brightness of it overwhelmed Arthur, but she was utterly beautiful in that moment, even though the look in her eyes was still somewhere far away.

“Would you not do the same, Arthur? If you and Eames were separated tomorrow, or even tonight, would you not do everything within your power, for the rest of your life, to be with him again?”

Her intensity unnerved him, but Arthur could not deny that she spoke the truth. He would go to the ends of the earth for Eames, he had never been so certain of anything in his life.

“Mal, I am here because Dom is lost, as lost as you were as a girl. He can no longer separate the life you two have created in your dreams from reality. If you are as sincere as you say, if you would truly do anything for Dom, then you must come to Totem with me. You must help me to wake him up.”

Mal’s smile slipped from her face, her eyes widened and grew clearer, returning to the current moment, to her own reality. “Oh, Dom. Yes. Yes, of course I will go with you. For him, for Dom.”

Arthur nodded and slid his hand down her arm until he could curl their fingers together. Lord Saito’s task would wait. First he would save Dom. And then he and Eames would begin their own life, together.  
…  
When Mal left the tent, her eyes still cloudy and promising she would sleep no more that night, Eames immediately slipped back in, his hulking frame seeming too large for the small space. Arthur still could not understand why, but he felt instantly at ease, comfortable and safe. Eames knelt beside him and nuzzled the crook of his neck, just above where the skin began to fade back to its normal pale hue. Arthur smiled and brought his good hand up to stroke his fingertips against the stiff hairs of the short beard that had begun to shade Eames’s jaw.

“Why me?” he murmured against the dark golden strands of Eames’s hair. “Why would you leave everything you had ever known, torture yourself monthly, for a boy you had only ever met in a fleeting moment?”

Eames tilted his head so that he could catch Arthur’s eye, the blue of his irises so deep, Arthur thought he could drown in them. He was so earnest, so honest, none of the playful smirk or teasing tongue he usually hid behind. “Because you are my mate. I knew it the very instant I scented you. Every moment I have spent separated from you has felt as if I was being ripped in half. I would never have been able to live in such a state.”

Arthur couldn’t imagine such a powerful feeling, having never been able to form an attachment to anyone but Dom. Dom’s downfall had made him angry, had made him sad, but he didn’t feel destroyed by it. He couldn’t imagine the feeling, but he was sure if he lost Eames now, he would know it. He sat back from the other man, still stroking his face.

“But Mal said that you were meant to mate with her.”

Eames shook his head, sighing. “Marry not mate. She could never have been my mate. I could have loved her perhaps, been loyal to her, had I never known you. But it was not meant to be. I would have pined for you forever, even if I never saw you again. I was ruined for anyone else.”

“Why would they do that to you? Why would your tribe deprive you? Does not every gypsy mate?” Arthur suddenly felt angry for Eames. He remembered the image from his dream, of the dejected little boy being carried away by the older group of men. They had not seemed awful in the dream, had seemed understanding and even a little bit sad for the youngest of them, but it couldn’t be right, not if they would insist that Eames suffer.

“These are different times, Arthur. Used to be, back when magic was prevalent and we gypsies weren’t shunned, that every child had a chance to find their true mate. When travelers were welcome in every town and the pups were exposed to more people than just their own tribe, they had more chances. If a pup found a girl, she was embraced into the tribe and if a girl found a boy, she could stay in that village with him. The dynamic was constantly changing and the pups were given more time to find their other half. Now every tribe is isolated, fearful of strangers. If a boy finds his mate within the tribe before he turns fifteen, then he can keep her, but if it turns out his mate is an outsider, then he never gets a chance. A girl will be found for him, to keep the tribe alive. S’why they chased you away so fast so long ago. The leaders thought you were harmless, being children. Thought maybe one of theirs might even imprint on Dom and they could keep him around until she found herself with child, but they were wrong. I imprinted on you and they could not have that.”

“But why? Why couldn’t I have stayed to be with you? I had no home, no family.”

“Oh, darling,” Eames said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Could you bear me a son? Could you continue my bloodline?”

“You could have done that with one of the girls, been with her until she was pregnant. You could have had children and still had me.”

“But I never would have, Arthur. Don’t understand? I would never have been able to be with anyone but you.”  
Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart hammering heavily against his ribs.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He spread his fingers, pressing his palm flat against the side of Eames’s face, feeling the rough skin, the heat, the bones beneath it all. It wasn’t enough of a connection, no matter how hard he pressed. He needed more.

Eames growled low in his throat, his eyes grown dark and heavy lidded. He skin grew hotter against Arthur’s palm he licked his lips and left them shiny and wet. Arthur could see when they parted for his tongue that his incisors had grown and sharpened. He didn’t become the beast, not the one Arthur had witnessed in the wood and that had taken him so thoroughly, but he was still different, wilder. There was something lurking beneath Eames’s skin that Arthur would never be able to understand, but it thrilled him to the core.

“Will you tie with me?” Arthur asked, unsure if Eames was coherent enough to even hear him.

“Not always,” Eames rumbled, still somehow holding himself back even as his muscles seemed to nearly vibrate with energy.

“Now?” Arthur whispered, breathless with anticipation.

Eames expression darkened further and he trembled, the effort of keeping himself still taking a visible toll. “You should still be sore. I will not hurt you.”

Arthur rubbed his thumb over Eames’s lip, pushed against the bottom one until Eames parted them and allowed him in, a guttural moan escaping from his throat.

“Please?” It was hardly louder than the beating of his own heart, but Eames heard it and it seemed to be the final thing that he could take.

Eames was standing before Arthur could blink, sweeping Arthur up into his arms and spinning to deposit him on the closest pallet. Eames let him down gently, following him with his own body, pressing Arthur into the soft material. Arthur arched against him, slipping his arm from the sling so that he could dig his fingers into the taut, tanned skin over his hip, dipping the tips below the soft leather of his pants.

Arthur was still sore, but the ache he had felt before, the desperation to have Eames inside of him, had grown. The idea of Eames suffering for all those years without him, made Arthur eager to ease his pain, to make him forget every moment they had ever been apart. He raised his hips to allow Eames to slide his pants to his knees, his thighs trembling as they fell apart to make room for Eames’s hips. It took some struggling, but Eames was able to remove Arthur’s boots one handed. Arthur kicked the garment away, laying himself bare beneath Eames, hips still pushed up to press against Eames’s groin. Eames ground down against him, pressing his leather bound erection against Arthur’s red and swollen cock.

“Eames, please,” Arthur begged, trying to draw Eames in by wrapping his legs around Eames’s hips and pulling. “I want you inside me. I want you to claim me. Make everyone know that I belong to you.”

“Arthur,” Eames growled, thrusting hard against Arthur’s groin. He reached between them to release the ties on his pants, freeing his cock to bounce heavily against Arthur’s thigh.

Eames reached for a vial, barely managing not to knock the entire table to the ground. He clumsily coated his fingers with oil, droplets of the thick liquid dripping between Arthur’s cheeks. Eames fingers followed the oil, brushing against Arthur’s tender hole. Arthur shivered, but let his legs fall wider apart, moaning softly to encourage Eames. When Eames breached him, he bucked, letting his head fall back against the pallet. He squeezed Eames’s hip until he thought the skin might bruise, silently begging for more. Eames penetrated him with another finger, crooking them to press against Arthur’s inner walls until the tips brushed against the place within him that had him crying out and forgetting his pain entirely.

“Now, Eames,” he hissed, writhing beneath the bulkier man. He was utterly pinned, buried beneath Eames’s body, but it made him feel safe, cared for, warm.  
Arthur mourned the loss of Eames’s fingers when he pulled them free, but he was barely able to catch his breath before Eames was pressing against him, his cock slick and too thick. Arthur focused on breathing through the stretch, focusing on the feel of Eames around him, the solid mass of his muscles and the warmth of his breath against Arthur’s ear. The stretch wasn’t so terribly unbearable this time, the knot not yet so swollen, but Arthur could still feel it thick inside of him. Eames paused, body trembling with effort of keeping still, waiting for Arthur to adjust to his girth. The moment stretched on for too long, until Arthur was whining against Eames, trying to push himself down onto Eames’s cock.

Eames began to move in slow and shallow thrusts, just barely easing the burn inside of Arthur. Arthur struggled to move against him, wrapping his good arm around Eames’s shoulders for leverage. Eames began to thrust in harder, filling Arthur to bursting with every snap of his hips. His hips slapped against the backs of Arthur’s thighs, echoing Arthur’s cries. Eames had barely wrapped his fingers around the swollen shaft of Arthur’s cock before Arthur was coming, thick ropes of seed shooting up to coat Eames’s stomach and chest.

“Arthur, Arthur. Mine. My Arthur,” Eames growled against his neck, snapping his hips hard, driving into Arthur with all of the force he could manage a few final times. Arthur gasped as Eames pushed into him as deeply as he could and stayed, the knot growing and stretching him too wide. “Shh my darling. Shhh,” Eames soothed him, as his cock began to pulse and spurt inside of Arthur, the knot keeping them tied together.

This was the connection Arthur needed, the lines between them so blurred that Arthur couldn’t tell where he ended and Eames began. “I love you,” he whispered again, allowing his eyes to fall closed and his muscles to relax, Eames still buried deep inside him.  
…  
Arthur had lost all track of the sun by the time he awoke. He couldn’t even be sure of how long he had slept this time because it had been deep and truly restful, not brought on by exhaustion or pain or fever. He felt fully alive for the first time in ages, utterly rejuvenated. He stretched as well as he could without moving his bad arm and let his eyes come open slowly. He ached inside, but it was a good ache, reminding him of the feel of Eames’s muscles coiled around him, the burn of Eames’s growing inside him. He gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position, careful of his rear and smiled to himself.

“Happy about something, my love?” Eames’s deep rumble stirred something in Arthur, widening his smile.

“Perhaps.”

Eames was standing at the front of the tent, hands clasped behind his back. He would have seemed deep in thought if not for the playful twist of his lips and the fond look in his eyes as he cast his gaze back at Arthur. He was entirely nude, having shed his clothing at some point in the night. Arthur found himself entranced by the way the dim light deepened the shadows that carved out the strong muscles in Eames’s back.

“Safest for us all if I stay a wolf while we travel,” Eames said, seeing the way Arthur’s gaze had intensified.

“Of course,” Arthur responded, not disappointed in the least.

“There’s a pair of Nash’s trousers on the ground there, by your legs. Should fit you, I think.”

Arthur eyed the dark mound, reaching out to run his fingertips over it, testing the wear of the leather. They were soft enough and a good, rich brown. If they fit they would do. He was glad to have something other than his own stained and ripped pants to wear. Eames helped him dress, not bothering to feign shame for the way his hands lingered on Arthur’s skin. The pants fit snugly but comfortably, nearly molding to the curves and long lines of Arthur’s legs. Once Eames had draped the red cloak over Arthur’s shoulders, his shoulder still too stiff to bother with a tunic, they exited the tent, Eames shifting as they walked.

Nash and Mal sat by the fire pit, crude plates of food in their laps. Mal smiled weakly at Arthur as he sat, handing him his own pile of bread and cheese and eggs. Arthur nodded once in thanks, only realizing once the food was in his hands that he was famished.

Nash whistled and laughed, holding out another hunk of cheese and several more eggs than Arthur had received, probably the last of them. “Eamesie. Over here, boy.”

Eames’s upper lip curled back to expose his canines and he growled, though he padded over to Nash anyway. He snapped at the air by Nash’s outstretched hand, causing Nash to yelp and drop the food. Arthur chuckled quietly to himself around a mouthful of egg and cheese, sure he wasn’t imagining a smug smirk on Eames’s muzzle. Mal remained quiet beside him, already distracted by whatever demons had seized her thoughts.

…

The trek back to town seemed impossibly short to Arthur, the entire expanse of forest just as foreign as the first time he had set foot beyond the line of trees. Every inch of it was just as thick as the inch before, so much so that Arthur believed himself completely lost no more than ten steps out of camp. He was left to trust Eames’s nose pressed to the ground, searching out the scents of the village or the scents of predators, and the trail itself. They traveled lightly, taking only what was essential from the camp. Arthur carried Eames’s boots and clothing in his pack and walked at the front of the group, growing increasingly eager with every step.  
When they finally began to advance on the edge of the forest, the trail growing wider and the vegetation becoming sparser, Arthur could barely stand not to rush straight through the trees. But they stopped, hesitating in the shadows while Eames changed once again. He dressed quickly, his movements efficient and swift and then he looked to Arthur as if for command. Arthur had not planned past retrieval of the witch. He didn’t know if she could actually help or if Dom was doomed to imprisonment in a fairytale world inside his mind forever. And Saito would come eventually, demanding the service that Arthur had promised him, if he had not already posted sentinels in the village. There would be little time to accomplish anything if they did not move quickly, but Arthur still hesitated, unsure of himself for the first time in a very long time.

Eames reached out to grasp his hand, squeezing with far less strength than Arthur knew he possessed. It was a gesture of support and though it hardly soothed any of Arthur’s fears, it gave him courage. He led the way out of the wood, Eames just behind him, Nash and an eerily silent Mal following. The first ray of sunlight nearly blinded Arthur and he was forced to drop Eames’s hand to bring his arm up to shield his eyes from the glare. It was the first bit of unfiltered light that Arthur had seen in days, a drastic change. Because of it, he didn’t notice the old man at the end of the path and was only alerted to him by the sound of a soft, feminine gasp from behind him.

“Arthur! I am glad to see you have returned, and not a moment too soon.” Arthur recognized Master Miles’s voice and he dropped his arm and strode forward, not noticing how the rest of his party stayed behind.

“Dom is worse then?” He couldn’t hide the tremor in his own voice at the thought that he’d failed already and after so much.

“There is still hope, but it is dim. Did you succeed?” Miles eyed Arthur’s bound chest and arm and then his companions as he spoke. Arthur turned halfway to watch them linger, Mal half hidden behind Eames’s massive frame.

“You were right to warn me, Miles. I was very nearly lost to the wood, but I did succeed. I found her, Miles, and I’ve brought her back.”

The old man’s watery eyes narrowed and his brow wrinkled in confusion as he looked back at Arthur. “Back? I do not understand... you’ve brought her back?”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, to clear the man’s confusion and explain, but he recognized footsteps on the gravel behind him and Mal’s melodic whisper.

“Hello, Papa.”

The old dreamwalker’s face went slack, eyes widened and unbelieving as Mal stepped around Arthur and fell into Miles’s arms. He slowly brought his hands up to grasp weakly at her back, his mouth forming unheard words.

“Mallorie? My Mallorie?” He finally whispered, tears beginning to drift down the uneven crags of his face. His entire body shook with the realization when it seemed he could finally accept what was happening.

Miles had never mentioned to Arthur that he had ever had any children and he had taken Dom in and cared for him like a son very shortly after they had found the small village. Arthur had not thought during Mal’s story of loss to imagine that Miles might have been the dreamwalker that taught her - her father. He had been too consumed with thoughts of Dom and then thoughts of Eames to put the pieces together, but now he could see it. Miles was just another tie holding Mal and Dom to each other, another stepping stone Fate had placed in their path to happiness.

“I am here, Papa. I found my way home. Dom led me here. Dom brought me home, Papa. Now I must bring him home,” Mal was whispering rapidly into her father’s shoulder, emotion thick in her voice.  
It struck a chord in Arthur, witnessing the type of family reunion he would never have. He was happy for Mal and Miles, happy for what he hoped Mal and Dom would have if Dom could be saved, but he was jealous beneath it all, bereft. His family was dead and Dom, the man who had essentially raised him, would be leaving him behind without a second thought if he woke. Arthur had always been only slightly more than alone and he knew that very little would actually change if Dom survived, but he felt a deep sense of loss nonetheless. He didn’t realize that he’d been reaching out for Eames until the man was beside him and wrapping strong arms around him. Arthur was melancholic, yes, but he felt no regrets.

…

The smell of the room struck Arthur first. It reeked of sick and Arthur immediately worried that Miles had misled him regarding Dom’s true condition. The area around him smelled fetid and the air was thick, but upon closer inspection it became clear that, though Dom seemed to have not woken at all in Arthur’s absence, he was not ill. He was pale and dark circles dug deep burrows beneath his eyes. His clothes were damp with sweat and his hair lay in greasy strings across his forehead. It pained Arthur physically to see Dom this way, but he couldn’t lose hope. He’d come too far.

Eames held Mal back after she’d nearly collapsed at Dom’s side, sobbing his name. He tried to calm her, to bring her back from wherever it was within her mind that she had retreated to, much the way she had done during her conversation with Arthur the evening before. Ariadne eyed her from across the room with obvious distrust, unconsciously holding her arm across her stomach where Mal had wounded her in the dream that, to Arthur, seemed to have happened so long ago.

“Can we trust her, Arthur?” Ariadne finally asked him, her eyes hardened with determination, so odd in her still cherubic face.

“I hope so,” he replied softly, watching Eames wrestle with the woman, still elegant even in madness. “Eames has been able to rouse her from the dreams on more than one occasion by going under himself. If he can help her to remember where she is now, then our only hope is that she can convince Dom to come back.”

“If that is all it takes then why can’t you bring him back? He trusts you more than anyone, Arthur!”

Ariadne and Yusuf had been hardly warm in their reaction to the party’s arrival. Ariadne had thrown her arms around Arthur’s middle, careless of the bandages indicating injury, and exclaimed her happiness at his well return, but she had curled into Yusuf’s side as soon as the other three had walked up. Arthur knew they were right in their worry, but he had no patience left. There was no time for it.

“Mal has seen me in Dom’s dreams. He will have no reason to trust me if I were to go under. He’ll believe me a fake and that could possibly push him deeper, make him cling even harder to this false reality of his. It must be Mal. She brought him this deep, she is the only one that can bring him back.”

“Her grasp on reality is clearly tenuous, Arthur. I do not believe it is wise to send her into Dom’s mind alone,” Yusuf said and Arthur could see Eames nodding over Mal’s head out of the corner of his eye.

“He is right, darling. Someone must go down with them.” Mal had quieted and was now resting her cheek against Eames’s chest, staring woefully at Dom.

“You can go. You’ve brought Mal back up before,” Arthur insisted but Eames shook his head.  
“Your Dom does not know me. I doubt he will react well to my intruding into his mind. Better someone your man is familiar with. The young lady perhaps.”

“Alright.”

“Ariadne, no.”

“I can do this, Arthur. I’m prepared this time.”

“Ariadne…” Arthur began to reach out for her but let his arm drop before he could touch her. He recognized the determination in her eyes, the set of her jaw. There was a reason Dom had chosen her as his apprentice. She was far stronger than she looked.

“Let the girl go, my love. Tis the only way.” Eames’s gaze was set upon him, imploring and understanding at the same time. Arthur sighed and nodded, looking back to Dom and watching the weak rise and fall of his chest.

“Bring him back, Ariadne. Bring them both back,” he murmured as Eames helped Mal to curl against Dom’s side on the small bed while Ariadne settled into a chair beside them.

“I will, Arthur. I promise,” Ariadne swore firmly even as her eyes fluttered shut.

Eames came to stand beside him, curling his fingers over Arthur’s hip possessively. The sound of hoof beats began to rumble outside the small house so suddenly they were all roughly thrown out of the tense trance-like state they had fallen into while watching the dreamers.

Arthur stiffened, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. Everyone looked to him, Miles and Yusuf with dawning understanding, Eames and Nash with absolute confusion. Arthur grasped Eames’s forearm where it rested next to his hip so tightly the man winced, and whirled to face the entrance.

“Saito,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the thunderous cacophony outside.  
Arthur had not yet formulated a plan for when he was forced to face the lord. He had known the time would come, but he had not expected it to come so quickly on the heels of his own arrival. He could not force Mal awake to face Saito, the kind of damage that would do to her already fragile mind would leave her utterly broken. And Arthur had come to have his doubts about Mal’s ability to fulfill Saito’s request. She was a powerful dreamwalker, that much was undeniable, but since coming to know her and seeing her tenuous grasp on reality for himself, Arthur was no longer certain that she could have manipulated the minds of every villager that had suddenly found themselves in love.

“What is this?” There was an underlying thread of fear in Nash’s question, but he masked it with tense aggression. Arthur ignored him, as much because he didn’t want to answer as he couldn’t. He had no idea what would become of them all when he couldn’t produce the dreamers to Saito, but he did know that it was his responsibility to face the situation and whatever repercussions came of it.

“Stay here and watch the dreamers. I’ll handle this. Everyone remain inside.” Arthur set his shoulders and held his head high, aware that he could look nowhere near noble but attempting to anyway.

“What are you doing?” Eames hissed, his grip tightening against Arthur’s skin.

He pulled away from Eames, physically detaching the man’s hand from his hip when Eames refused to let go. He ignored the bemused expressions still adorning his and Nash’s faces and stepped through the doorway and into the sunshine. A young man was already waiting a few feet away, hands clasped before him. Arthur recognized him as Saito’s attendant and approached him slowly. The man smiled, but Arthur didn’t find himself relieved at all.

“My name is Tadashi. I am here at the behest of Lord Saito.”

“Arthur.”

Tadashi allowed his gaze to rake over Arthur’s form, wincing slightly at the bandages, but his smile widened. “Have you fetched the witch? I am to bring her to my lord.”

“I…” Arthur hesitated. “I think it would be best if I were to speak with Lord Saito myself. There have been complications with the task he set me.”

Tadashi’s face fell. “So you have not found the witch? My lord will be most disappointed.”

Arthur twisted his fingers into the soft velvet of the cloak, hoping that the attendant wouldn’t notice the small tell. “Please allow me to explain to Lord Saito. He came to me on his own to give me the quest, it cannot be too much of a bother to allow me to explain myself to him in person.”

“He is near,” Tadashi jerked his chin over his shoulder, drawing Arthur’s attention to a circle of horses patiently chewing the grass just outside the village boundary.

Arthur nodded and strode forward, brushing past Tadashi. He still had no plan and nothing to offer Saito but some half-formed thoughts floating around in his own head, but he was determined. He had begun this task with nothing on his mind but saving the man who had raised him, but now he had so much more at stake. The happiness of his friends, his own happiness, was at stake as well. He was very sure that if he could not convince Saito of the futility of his request, then everything he had only begun to hope for would be lost before it could even be had. He could not let that happen.

The walk was short enough that the silence between him and Tadashi had no time to become awkward. Arthur kept his sights focused on Saito’s horses, barely even acknowledging the young man beside him. He was only halfway to the group when Saito appeared, an appraising expression on his face, his eyes crinkled up at the corners as if he knew something that Arthur didn’t. It shook Arthur’s confidence, but not enough that Arthur let it show.  
“Lord Saito,” he greeted the older man, bowing his head in deference. Saito smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Arthur. Were you successful?” Saito could obviously see that Arthur was alone, but Arthur took it as a positive that the man seemed to be giving him a chance.

“It is more complicated than that.”

“Complicated? It is a simple question, Arthur. A yes or a no.”

Arthur took a deep breath and braced himself. “I was able to locate the witch, yes.”

The corners of Saito’s lips rose, but it was not a true smile. “See, not so complicated.” He paused, as if waiting for Arthur to respond, but Arthur kept silent.

“Is she here?”

Arthur only nodded, keeping his lips tightly pressed together.

“Very good. I assume that she is currently attending to Master Cobb and that is why you have come alone.” Saito seemed to have an endless wealth of patience, but he was a very powerful man and Arthur did not doubt that he could turn cruel at any moment.

“I told you that it’s complicated. You must believe me. I have no desire to deceive you, my lord, but the woman is not what we originally thought. She is no witch at all.”

“Really?” Saito raised an eyebrow and took a step closer to Arthur, an intimidating presence.

“She is just a woman in love, trying to get home.” Arthur’s voice softened and faded as he spoke, his thoughts straying to Eames unbidden.

“You were so convinced of her guilt before, what has changed your mind?”

“I met her. She was nearly as broken as Dom when I found her. Her mind is not whole, not without Dom.”

Saito frowned and Arthur’s pulse quickened. “How then, do you explain all of the love matches that have occurred since the witch’s arrival in our woods? Surely they could not all have been serendipity?”

That is where Arthur faltered. He had no way to explain the dreams of the villagers, or even his own, but he believed wholeheartedly that Mal had not consciously been the cause of them.

“I am not sure that they can be explained.”

“Try.”

“Sometimes there exists a love so strong that it cannot be contained between just two people. Your villagers experienced the excess of a love such as that. They were caught in the middle of emotion so expansive and intense, that they could not help but fall in love themselves.”

Arthur whirled, red cloak billowing around him, heart caught in his throat. “Eames! I told you to stay behind!”

Eames only shrugged and smirked, pale blue eyes glinting in the sun. Arthur wanted to be angry, but his body betrayed him by flooding with relief and overwhelming affection, because Saito would believe that he was speaking of the love between Dom and Mal, but Arthur knew that they were only part of it.

“Who is this?” Saito’s voice remained pleasant, but it still yanked Arthur out of his reverie.

“He is-“

“Mal’s companion,” Eames supplied before Arthur could hesitate.

“The witch has a name. This I am glad to know. But my request remains unfulfilled."

“And what type of request was this?” Eames’s eyes narrowed, the muscles of his shoulders bunched. He wouldn’t hesitate to shift if he felt Arthur was threatened, but Arthur didn’t want that to happen.

“It’s futile. It’s not possible. Mal never made anyone fall in love.”

“And what do you say?” Saito turned his attention to Eames, expression still neutral, but his eyes beginning to narrow in a predatory fashion.

“Anything is possible,” Eames said slowly, “but the most extreme measures are not always necessary.” He looked over Saito’s shoulder, away from the woods and to the hills where a caravan was making its way in the direction of Saito’s household. Eames couldn’t know, but Arthur recognized the colors of Lord Fischer’s coat of arms. Black flags of mourning were held high, waving in the wind.

Saito’s expression fell open as he turned, raw hope obvious in his eyes. “Tadashi! Ready the horses. We ride for home.”

The attendant immediately sprang into action, ignoring Arthur and Eames completely. Arthur reached for Eames’s hand, bracing himself for the blow he was sure was coming. When Saito finally turned back to them, Arthur held his breath and unconsciously shifted closer to Eames’s side, comforted by the man’s warmth and strength. He was suddenly very glad to not be facing Lord Saito alone.  
“I want you to know that this was not about wealth or power. You are not the only ones that can fall in love. Perhaps I may have gone about making sure my love was reciprocated in the wrong way, but I promise that is all I wanted. I do not want to be an old man waiting to die alone.” Saito looked wistful, eyes settled on Arthur’s and Eames’s joined hands.

Arthur felt for the man, remembering how lonely he had been before he had allowed himself to succumb to his feelings for Eames. He remembered the sleepless nights, terrified of the man in his dreams, of how much he wanted to believe the man was real. He could understand Saito’s worry that offering up his own feelings to Fischer would not be enough, that a bit of insurance couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t right, not fair to Fischer, but it was understandable.

“Lord Fischer has come to you on the death of his father. There does not seem to be much for you to worry about,” Arthur said softly, tightening the grip of his fingers against Eames’s.

“Perhaps you are right,” Saito murmured. He looked sharply at Arthur suddenly, but he was smiling. “I may very well visit you again, Arthur, but now I think I should leave you to your own worries. I thank you.” Then Saito was swinging himself into his saddle and urging his horse to run, Tadashi and his guards close behind.

Eames and Arthur stayed standing in the dust kicked up by the horses for a while, watching the riders disappear into the horizon. Arthur genuinely hoped that Fischer did love Saito in return, not only because he didn’t wish to be visited by Saito again anytime soon, but because he knew how it felt to be loved and he couldn’t help but want that for everyone he encountered.

“Mind telling me what that was about?”

“Does it matter now?” Arthur leaned into Eames, comforting himself with the absolute solidity of the man.

“I suppose there are more pressing issues at this very moment, but I will expect to be told eventually.”

Arthur tilted his head so that his cheek rested against Eames’s shoulder and turned it so that he could gaze up at the man’s face. “Just be happy that we have an eventually, Eames.”

…

Ariadne woke first, slowly coming to herself, eyes fluttering like tiny butterflies. She was smiling but Arthur’s heart remained frozen, every beat painfully hard against his ribcage as he waited. Ariadne curled into Yusuf’s arms, her eyes on Arthur whose eyes were on Dom.

“He’ll be alright, Arthur,” she promised, but Arthur couldn’t shake his worry.

It felt like an eternity before Mal’s eyelids finally rose slowly, the pupils behind them the clearest Arthur had ever seen them. She found Eames and a single tear slid down her cheek, but she was clearly happy. Arthur held his breath, his fingers curled around Eames’s hand like a vice. Eames kissed the side of his head as Mal leaned over Dom’s still sleeping body and stroked his cheek. When Dom’s eyes finally opened, Arthur nearly lost himself, his knees suddenly too weak to hold his body weight, but Eames’s arms were wrapped firmly around him and he was in no danger of falling.

Dom raised his hand to drag his knuckles across the line of Mal’s jaw. His eyes were clear and blue and full of adoration for Mal, but honest adoration for the woman lying beside him and not the figment of his imagination. He suddenly seemed to realize where he was, that he was awake, and his gaze left Mal’s to search the room until it finally landed on Arthur. Dom’s smile then, when his eyes found Arthur’s and he was clearly aware, was one of the most wonderful things that Arthur had ever seen.  
…

“Arthur.”

Arthur started and turned away from the tree line at which he’d been staring. It was an old habit he'd unconsciously picked up again over the last fortnight, one he didn’t truly understand himself. He found himself drawn to the path and the tree line at least once every day, but he never went any further than the edge of the village, just stopped and stared, as if waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t asked because he didn’t know how to phrase it quite right.

“Dom.” Arthur smiled and reached out to his friend. His wounds had all mostly healed and he had full mobility of his left arm back. Dom smiled back and grasped his hands, his eyes the brightest Arthur had seen them since he had first fallen under Mal’s spell.

Dom was a new man, changed by the experience just like Arthur, but where Arthur had not yet found the conclusion to his story, everything Dom had ever wanted had been fulfilled. Dom had never wanted to live life on the move, jumping from town to town, sleeping in the wilderness; never knowing where their next meal would come from. Dom deserved a home and a family and with Mal he would finally have the chance to make his dreams come true. He looked younger, like he’d been allowed to let go of the weight that had been unfairly placed on a fourteen year old boy’s shoulders.

“I feel like I haven’t truly thanked you.”

“Oh. Dom, there’s no need for that. We’re brothers, you and I. I did what I had to. You spent half your life taking care of me, how could I abandon you when you needed me most?”

Dom was still smiling, but there was something sad in his eyes, like he knew something that Arthur didn’t. “We are brothers. You have been the closest thing to a family that I can remember having. You kept me sane, Arthur. You kept me alive, kept me going even when I no longer thought I could. You’re the reason I ever made it here, and you are the reason that I’ll keep going even after you leave. You have been taking care of me just as long as you think I’ve been taking care of you, maybe even longer. But you don’t have to anymore, Arthur.”

Arthur watched Dom’s face, trying to understand what his friend was saying, but there was nothing manipulative there, just compassionate understanding, just the love of one brother for another.

“Dom, I don’t understand.”

Dom dropped his hands, instead resting his palm against Arthur’s lower back, guiding him back toward his small home in the village.

“Do you remember when you were ten and you found that little wolf pup?”

“I didn’t remember until recently. I’d put it out of my mind.”

Dom smiled and looked back at the trees for a brief moment. “It took you a very long time to do that. Every night after I took him back into the woods, you used to sit at the edge of whatever camp we had made and just stare in the direction I’d taken him. It was as if you thought he might find us. Even after you forced yourself to forget, I would still sometimes catch you staring into the distance, like you somehow knew there was something better for you out there. I love you, Arthur, and I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”

Arthur stared hard into Dom’s eyes and found only sincerity. “You want me to leave?”

Dom shook his head. “You want to leave. I don’t want to stop you. But you know, you’ll always have a home here.”

Arthur sighed, a great shuddering breath that shook his shoulders. He felt like he had been crouching for days and now could suddenly stand tall. He didn’t need to ask how Dom knew what had been bothering Arthur when even Arthur hadn’t known, but he knew that Dom was right. He was anxious and uncomfortable, ready to move forward but not sure where to go.

“Thank you, Dom,” he whispered, pulling the man into a bone-crushing hug.  
…  
Arthur had everything he might need packed by nightfall. The moon was waxing and every night, the line of Eames’s shoulders grew tenser. Arthur found him in the exact spot where he’d been standing earlier, watching the trees. Eames’s shoulders softened when Arthur pressed against his side and he pulled Arthur in close, burying his nose in the space beneath Arthur’s jaw.

“Arthur, I-“

“I know.”

“Arthur, I don’t know that I can leave you…“

“Then don’t.”

“Darling, I can’t stay here. When the moon is full, I’ll have to go, and I don’t think it is in my character to come back. I’m a gypsy, my love. I’m not meant to stay in one place.”

Eames looked like his heart was breaking into tinier pieces with every word he spoke, the anguish on his face clear as day. Arthur smiled softly, his cheeks dimpling, before he pressed his mouth firmly against Eames’s lush lips. Eames pulled back, surprised, but Arthur stood his ground.

“Wherever you go, I will be right by your side,” he whispered, and gestured to his bags lying only a few feet away. “We will never be separated again, Eames.”

Eames's smile was brighter than a thousand suns as he swept Arthur off of his feet and spun him in a circle, only settling him back on the ground when Arthur threatened permanent maiming through his laughter.

"I love you madly, my darling," Eames whispered against Arthur's neck, still embracing him tightly.

"No more than I love you," Arthur whispered back, fully ready to begin his life anew with the man he had always been meant to love.

 

...  
Epilogue  
...

 

A young boy and girl played near the edge of the path out of Totem and into the thick woods that bordered the small village. The little girl wore a crimson cloak that hung too long on her small body and trailed in the dirt when she moved.

“James, Phillipa! Supper!” At the sound of their mother’s voice, the little boy rose and hurried on unstable legs in the direction of their home, but the little girl stayed, her eyes on the tree line.

She smiled, big blue eyes sparkling in her cherubic face, when the brush broke and a great, white wolf that dwarfed her in size, came lumbering onto the path. The little girl rushed forward, her arms outstretched, eager to wrap them around the animal’s girth. The wolf grinned, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, and bumped his head against the little girl’s outstretched hands. She giggled in delight, curling her fingers into the beast’s thick fur where inky black lines curled over its shoulder blades.

“You should be careful around wolves, they’re dangerous creatures,” a deep voice called out. The little girl looked up to see a lithe man with dark hair walking along the path, his expression stern but his eyes butter soft.

The little girl beamed at the man and shook her head, as if he could not possibly be correct. “But he is not a normal wolf!”

“Oh? He looks like a wolf to me.” The man finally smiled and crouched down next to the wolf when he reached them. The wolf dropped to the ground in a contented heap and rolled onto his back, exposing his belly for the little girl to scratch.

She squealed in delight at the animal’s antics. “But he is not!”

“How do you know?”

“From the stories.”

The man quirked an eyebrow and reached out to run his own hand across the wolf’s chest. He chuckled when the animal growled and snapped half-heartedly at his wrist. “He must like you better than me, ungrateful dog.”

“No, no, he loves you. But I scratch him better.”

“And you know the way he feels from your stories too?”

“Mhmm! My bedtime stories. My papa tells them to me. I’m Phillipa,” she stated, holding her hand out for the man to grasp. “And I know who you are. You’re Arthur and he is Eames.”

The man settled on the ground, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Would you tell me one of these stories, Phillipa? I am sure that you are a great storyteller.”

Phillipa beamed and nodded. “I can tell you the best one. It’s the best because it’s true." She settled very close to the man, her sweet face suddenly very serious. "Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Their village was attacked and they were the only survivors and they had to travel very far to find a new place to live. They traveled all over the world until they came here and the older brother decided that he would make this his home. The younger brother stayed too, because he was very loyal. They were happy for a while, but then the older brother became sick and fell asleep and no one could wake him up. Everyone thought it was the work of a witch, so the younger brother decided to go deep into the wood to find her. He knew better than to stray from the path, but he was attacked by a monster. The monster wanted to eat him because he was so pure. He fought back, but the monster was big and scary. Just when he thought all hope was lost, he was saved by a big, white wolf. The wolf fought off the monster and then dragged the younger brother to his den.

“The wolf was really a man who was under an unbreakable curse, and he’d seen the younger brother on the path and had fallen deeply in love with him. The wolf in his human form was very handsome and he cleaned the younger brother’s wounds and took care of him until he was well again. And the younger brother fell in love with him too. Then he took the younger brother to the witch who was not really a witch at all. She was the most beautiful woman that the younger brother had ever seen and he could tell instantly that she wasn’t evil. She was under the same spell as the older brother and the only way to break it was to bring them together, because they were lovesick. So the younger brother brought her back to the village and when she and the older brother were finally together, they woke up and then they got married and lived happily ever after.”

“That is a wonderful story, Phillipa, but what happened to the younger brother and the wolf?”

“The wolf had to go back into the woods because of his curse and the younger brother loved him so much that he went with him. That’s where the other stories start, because the younger brother and the wolf have done all sorts of great things since then. They’ve slain dragons, and monsters, and saved princesses, and even kings!”

“Have they now? And you are sure this story is true?”

“It is! I know it is! Because the older brother is my papa and the witch is my mama! And you’re the younger brother. You’re Arthur! And he’s Eames. He’s the wolf!”

“Phillipa! Your mother called you ages ago. What are you doing out here… Arthur?”

“Papa! I knew it! I knew you were Arthur!”

The man smiled, pushing himself up and dusting dirt from his clothes. The wolf rose to his feet and pressed himself against the man’s side.

“Hello, Dom.”

Dom gathered Phillipa into his arms and she twisted her neck at the most uncomfortable looking angle so that she could still stare with sparkling eyes at Arthur and Eames. “You’ve come home.”

“Until the next full moon. We can't stay, but I think we have slain enough dragons to warrant a rest.” Arthur leaned in and winked at Phillipa, causing her little face to brighten with awe. “We should not be gone so long next time.”

“Good, that is good,” Dom said, finally grinning. “Come on then, there’s enough supper for the both of you. I’d be careful though, Mal and Ariadne are likely to tan both your hides for taking so long to come back.”

Arthur laughed and Dom’s grin grew wider at the unfettered joy he saw in the younger man’s face. Whatever Arthur and Eames had done in the last several years, wherever they had gone, it had freed something in Arthur and Dom had never seen him so happy. "Lord Saito and Lord Fischer finalized their union shortly after you left. I doubt these lands have ever been so prosperous before."

Arthur beamed, brown eyes twinkling. "I am glad to hear that, and I am very happy for you," he said, nodding at Phillipa. Dom smiled softly and kissed his daughter's head, clearly delighted to have gotten the family he had dreamed of for so long.

Arthur let Dom and Phillipa get a ways ahead before he stopped, digging through his pack for a pair of dark leather pants. He smiled wide and leaned into the embrace when a pair of strong, solid arms wrapped around his middle.

“Arthur the dragon slayer, rescuer of kings,” Eames purred against his ear. “And you think we have achieved enough? Surely this is not how our fairytale ends?”

Arthur turned in Eames’s arms, wrapping his own around the other man’s thick neck, so that he might look into the deep, blue eyes that had once haunted his dreams, but now brightened his reality.

“Oh no, Eames, our tale has only just begun.”

FIN


End file.
